Sorting Out Home
by Tajjas
Summary: Steve is trying to find a place in the 21st century.
1. New York Horizon

_Steve is trying to find a place in the 21__st__ century. Because crappy weather meant that I caught up on all of the Marvel movies I missed for one reason or another, and hey, it's not like I don't have way too many other stories in progress at the moment . Takes place after _Avengers_ and before _Iron Man 3_, and since my head still hurts from trying to reconcile the X-Men movies with anything canon for A Dangerous Man, I'm going to say (mostly) to hell with it in this case and ignore the comics and call the movies canon._

_As a general rule, if you recognize the character/setting/device/etc., I'm probably not the owner._

* * *

Steve shifted a little further under the upper awning as the sun reached his perch, taking care to remain out of sight of those below. Not that anyone should have a reason to be looking at the rest stop roof, but if they noticed him it was bound to cause a commotion, and he didn't want to deal with that. Most of his focus was on the buildings in the distance, though, and one in particular that stood above those around it. Privately he thought 'the big, ugly building in New York' was still a fairly accurate description, but somehow it didn't look quite so offensive this time around. Maybe because the 'STARK' that had been plastered across the front had never been replaced, only the facing around the stylized 'A' repaired. He didn't know if there had been an official statement made as to the reason, but while it might be—_was_—a bit of conceit of his own, he liked the idea of an Avengers Tower.

There was a honk and a yell and he checked himself automatically, but it was just two cars jostling for position, and since his bike was well clear and there was no indication that things would escalate he returned his attention to the skyline. He didn't know where the rest of the team was now, how they were doing, any of that, but his head felt far clearer than it had two months ago. Or…no, it had been more like three months since he'd left New York. He understood what SHIELD had been trying to do when they'd put him up in an apartment as similar to one from the 40s as was available, but the 40s were gone now. Once he'd gotten oven the initial shock, Steve had needed to get out and learn what _this_ time was all about.

Fury had seemed glad that he was planning to get out and had given him a card that allowed him access to money, to a 'thanks for saving the world' account, he'd called it, but given his feelings about SHIELD Steve had been loath to use it. Especially when he'd learned how much things cost these days. A whole dollar for a _newspaper,_ for heaven's sake, and that wasn't even the worst of it. His feeling of reluctance had had only increased when he'd awakened at a roadside motel one morning to find a package waiting for him at the desk containing a helmet and a note that he was setting a bad example for the children by riding around on a motorcycle without one. While on one hand it had been appreciated since it was one of those little things about this time that had escaped him, on the other he hadn't liked the idea that his journey was being watched, and while he might not be in the same league as a few of his teammates when it came to intelligence he wasn't an idiot either. Since he did his own bike maintenance and knew that there were no bike components that he didn't recognize, and there was nothing in his pack that he hadn't put there himself, the card had been the obvious culprit.

The next time he'd stopped for food he'd offered to trade labor in place of money for his lunch, but the response had been…well, he wasn't sure that the woman at the counter had actually understood his offer. In his time bartering had been normal, beans and rice had been repayment for his mother when she'd taken in washing far more often than coin and he'd run errands for the old man on the corner for penny candy whenever it was offered, but that obviously wasn't so today.

He'd had better luck once he'd gotten further from the city and had stopped going to places with names that were quasi-familiar from his time in the new New York, though. The ones called chains. At other places, the ones referred to as Mom and Pop shops, it was much easier to find a person in charge who didn't make vague statements about corporate policy and was more willing to discuss unloading a truck or a few hours of dishwashing in exchange for a meal. Nights were harder, but while he was a city kid at heart his time in the Army had made him no stranger to sleeping rough. So long as the weather held or he could find some kind of shelter, he did just fine. Fuel for his motorcycle was more difficult to come by, that almost always required the card or some kind of temporary job where he earned cash, but he wasn't afraid of hard work and heavy lifting and like any child of the Depression he could stretch a dollar until it screamed.

He sighed, pulling his arms in tighter around his knees. It had taken some time, but he'd finally started getting accustomed to the sheer speed with which things moved in the twenty-first century—not just literally on their highways but more the always-on always-connected technology—and had started catching up on the other things. The people were more or less the same at heart, he'd realized that at SHIELD, but there were still new rules to learn, new behavioral norms…he'd missed seventy years that had included a Civil Rights movement, a Women's Rights movement, wars in countries whose names he barely recognized—a couple whose names he hadn't recognized at all—something called a Cold War, and a hundred other little things. The days that it had rained had been spent mostly in libraries and he was still nowhere near caught up.

As he'd ceased to be overwhelmed with the newness he'd begun to get restless, though, and it wasn't the kind of restlessness that could be solved by traveling to Yellowstone or the Badlands. It was more the knowledge that he couldn't continue to roam the US indefinitely. He needed to find a place for himself. A _function_ for himself.

Unfortunately, right now the only offer he had was from Fury at SHIELD. He respected Fury a great deal and knew that Clint and Natasha worked for SHIELD and from what little he'd seen had seemed content with their lives, but he wasn't a spy and he certainly wasn't an assassin. The way that the agency as a whole operated, especially the Tesseract weapon development program and the nuclear warhead that they'd launched targeting an American city…it left him seriously questioning whether that was really the place for him. He was willing to work with them, or at least with Fury, especially if there were any more attacks on the Earth, but day to day it was hard to see himself there.

Three months ago he would have said that the place he really belonged was the army, but now he wasn't so sure. He was a soldier, and it was all he'd ever wanted to be, but the US Army today wasn't the same one that he'd known. He'd stopped in one of the recruiting offices he'd come across more out of curiosity than anything and found that the eligibility requirements were different, the training was different, even the way that they fought was different. He still had his commission and could probably get back in if he wanted to—it might take some creativity with the paperwork, but the story of him being found in the ice wasn't that much of a secret—but without a lot of retraining he'd just end up reduced once again to the position of walking recruiting poster and entertainer. That wasn't what he wanted at all. And it wasn't even that he _objected_ to retraining, he knew that there were a lot of things that he needed to learn, but he was so accustomed to leading men that it would be awkward being both a green recruit and Captain America all at once. Awkward at best; at worst, if his natural inclinations took over in the heat of battle, it could be a disaster. If there was a way to start a unit like his Howling Commandos that would be one thing, but somehow he didn't see it happening without serious backing, and he didn't have that outside of SHIELD. So, here he sat.

The sun shifted further and Steve with it, but it wasn't long before the upper awning no longer offered cover, and after a quick glance around to make certain that no one was looking in his direction he swung himself back down to the ground and headed for his bike. Before he'd left Tony had told him that if he ever needed a place to stay he was always welcome at any of the Stark properties, and Steve had finally decided to take him up on that offer. At least for a little while as he worked on sorting things out. And he was actually looking forward to seeing Tony again. Well, if he was being honest it was more the idea of seeing a familiar face than seeing Tony in particular, but there were also things that he needed to say to Tony, and even if it was likely to be uncomfortable he'd always hated having that sort of thing hanging over his head.


	2. Neighbors

_Thanks to everyone who read and TheShadowArchitect, Qweb, hullaballooh, and ViolettaVie for reviewing._

* * *

No one gave Steve a second glance as he crossed the parking lot to his bike, and without further hesitation he settled his helmet on his head, checked the straps on his pack, and started the process of rejoining traffic on the main thoroughfare. He wasn't in the same rush that some of the drivers seemed to be so it took him longer than it might have otherwise, but at the same time once he got into traffic he had no idea why everyone else had been in such a hurry because it wasn't like anyone was going anywhere fast. There had been motor vehicles in his time, sure, but the numbers had been nothing on this scale, and he brought a foot down to balance his bike as the line of cars came to a halt. Despite his stop he'd expected to reach the tower by mid-afternoon, but at this rate it would be closer to sundown.

Traffic coming out of the city was moving a bit more quickly, and Steve tensed as one of the oncoming cars cut in front of another with nowhere near enough space to spare. The other driver was able to hit his brakes just fast enough to avoid a collision—and his horn immediately after—but the combination of the sudden smell of rubber and his destination brought Steve's mind back to a topic he'd been trying not to think about since his decision to return to New York.

When he'd first found himself in the wrong time, he'd been torn between the desire to look up his old friends and the fear of what he'd find if he did, and while he'd never been one to let fear stop him, it didn't change the hurt he'd felt as his fears had been proven right one by one. The majority of his team, his friends, were gone, among them Howard Stark. Several men had been lost in combat either in the last days of World War II or in the other wars that had followed, and if he couldn't help but feel that he should have been there to lead them, they'd been soldiers and had known the risks they were taking. Most of the rest had died of various age-related illnesses…it didn't change his feelings of loneliness, but at least he could console himself with the fact that they'd made marks on the world and were survived by children and grandchildren. But the idea that the best pilot in the eastern theatre had been lost in a _car accident_….

He shook his head, forcing his attention back to the slow-moving traffic in front of him. It still seemed mad. Howard was among those who'd left behind a child though, one who was far more present than those of the rest of his unit members. Or maybe 'present' was the wrong word for it, but it had been easy for Steve to find information on Tony Stark—it would have been hard for him to avoid it—because Tony had a media trail a mile long. And every comment, every editorial, every photograph of him showed the same thing: a brash, flashy, irritating man that had Steve all but gritting his teeth in disapproval. Steve's opinion hadn't exactly been improved when he'd seen the SHIELD files and battle footage, redacted as he knew it had been, and then upon meeting Tony it had felt like the worst of everything had been confirmed. He could fight, sure, at least when he was in his metal suit, and there was no denying his intelligence, but he was arrogant, obnoxious, clearly unable to work as part of a team…he'd hacked classified files while he was supposed to be tracking their target for goodness sake!

And he wasn't Howard.

As much as Steve still wanted to deny it, as much as it had been a solid month into his trip around the US before the idea had even occurred to him, the fact that Tony was here and Howard wasn't had had as much to do with his instant dislike of Tony than anything else. Oh, the fact that Tony _was_ loud and arrogant and self-centered certainly hadn't helped, but Steve's opinion of him had been pretty solidly formed before they'd even met.

Still, despite the sniping and rude comments that had passed between them they'd fought well together, and Tony had proved that he wasn't at all the waste of space that Steve had first taken him for. He still couldn't say that they'd end up friends in the end, but they were teammates, and while he wasn't sure how Tony really felt despite the invitation, Steve wanted to try to start fresh. To do that he had to separate Tony from his memories of Howard, and something that brought Howard so sharply to mind wouldn't help.

Fortunately, between the slow traffic and the fact that there were no more near-accidents in his view he was able to shift his mind to other topics by the time he reached the tower, and when he did he was glad that he was on a motorcycle because finding a place to park a car would have been impossible. Still, the majority of the people he passed were exiting rather than entering and of the few going in he was the only one to approach the older woman sitting at the desk marked 'Reception.'

"May I help you, sir?" she asked, looking up from her computer screen.

"Yes, ma'am. I'd like to speak to Tony Stark."

"Tony Stark," she repeated.

He got the distinct impression that she thought he was mocking her, and he nodded and answered with all the gravity that he could muster. "Yes, ma'am."

She stared at him for a moment longer and then, in the same tone, "I'm sorry but Mr. Stark is busy at the moment."

"Oh." He hadn't even thought of that, and he probably should have. Obviously Tony had responsibilities, and it wasn't as though Steve had done him the courtesy of letting him know that he was planning to visit. He winced slightly. Maybe he'd been on the road for a little _too_ long; he could almost hear his mother clicking her tongue over his display of poor manners.

"May I have your name, please?" the woman asked.

"Rogers. Steve Rogers." He realized as she typed something into her computer that she was preparing to take a message and opened his mouth to tell her not to bother—he could always try again tomorrow—when surprise flickered across her face.

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't realize. You can go right up."

"What? But I thought Tony was busy?"

"He is, but you're flagged as one of the people who's to be allowed access to the tower at any time."

"I…oh."

"You didn't know?" She gave him a sympathetic look and murmured something that sounded suspiciously like 'just like that man. "Well, why don't you take the private elevator up, and JARVIS will help get you sorted out? And if there's anything that he can't help you with, you can just come back down here and I'll see what I can do."

JARVIS being Tony's computer as Steve recalled. Or…he was something more than a computer, somehow, but Steve had never been quite clear on what. "Thank you, ma'am, I'll do that. Where would I find the elevator?"

"Right back through here." She gestured, and a panel that he'd thought was part of the wall behind her desk slid sideways.

"Thank you," Steve repeated.

The door closed after him as he stepped inside, and he turned, realizing that there were no buttons.

"Hello, Captain Rogers, it's good to see you again," said a voice tinged with an English accent, and Steve felt the elevator began to rise.

"I…." Steve twisted in a circle again, but no one had magically appeared behind him. "JARVIS?" he guessed.

"Yes, sir. I understand that you wish to speak to Mr. Stark, but he's currently in his lab with Colonel Rhodes and has given orders that he's not to be disturbed unless the world is about to end. Under the circumstances, I'm inclined to believe that he was quite serious."

Steve nodded. Not that he had any idea who Colonel Rhodes was, but if Tony said that he didn't want to be disturbed, Steve had no reason not to respect that. "That's perfectly fine, but is there somewhere that I could wait for him until he's finished? I was hoping that I could stay here for a week or two."

"Of course, there's no need to wait on Mr. Stark's approval for that. I can have a suite opened for you immediately and will inform him of your arrival when he leaves the lab."

"Thank you, but please don't go to any trouble on my account. All I need is a bed." Honestly, he didn't even need that, but he doubted that camping in the tower lobby would be appreciated.

"It's no trouble." A pause. "Are you certain that there is nothing else that you require? My records indicate that you had a motorcycle when you left."

"I still do. It's parked outside."

"May I suggest that you move it into the garage? Given the traffic congestion, the police are rather free with tickets in this area of the city."

"That would be swell." He had seen the signs limiting parking hours, and while he thought the bike was safe enough where it was, there was no sense in leaving it outside if there was a better place for it. "Would it be all right if I do that now?"

"That might be wise." The elevator came to a stop and then reversed direction, and when it came to a halt Steve wasn't surprised to find himself underground. He'd seen the streets, and that was about the only place that there could be any parking. It was larger than he'd expected, but that made it easy to find a spot for his motorcycle, and when it was safely stored he slung his pack over his shoulder and re-entered the elevator. "JARVIS? Are you still…here?"

"I am. May I assume that you are unfamiliar with artificial intelligences?"

"Very," Steve said. That sort of thing had been science fiction in his time, and he had a sneaking suspicion that JARVIS' abilities went far beyond what even those stories had dreamed.

"Well, to put it simply I am a computer-based intelligence with access to all areas of the tower—in fact to all Stark properties—at all times, and except in very limited circumstances my processing power is more than enough to field any number of requests at once. On the lower, public levels you'll find that there are a number of human assistants for the comfort of those accustomed to such things, but on the private levels most requests will go through me. Simply say my name and I will hear you." The elevator came to a halt. "Your rooms are through the door in the back left corner, and the door is keyed to your approach."

"Thank you," Steve said.

"You're most welcome."

The area the elevator opened onto was clearly some sort of common room with a kitchen tucked off to one side and a sitting area arranged in the center. The far wall was all glass with a view out over the city, and Steve took a minute to admire it before turning for the door that JARVIS had indicated.

It slid open obligingly at his approach, and Steve stopped in the doorway and stared. He'd just asked for a room with a bed, not…this. The door had opened onto another sitting area—not as large as the main one, maybe, but still more space than a single person could ever use with an extension of the same spectacular view—a small kitchen of his own, a bathroom…. He shook his head and checked the far door and finally found the bed he'd been looking for, but even that room was almost as large as the barracks he'd shared with his men had been and there was yet another bath attached. Along with what was probably supposed to be a closet but was another room in and of itself to his eyes. "JARVIS?" he asked tentatively.

"Yes, Captain Rogers?"

"I—thank you, I mean, I appreciate it, but I really don't need all this."

"This is the smallest sized suite available in the tower."

Oh. "Well, then, thank you again," he repeated, giving in and lowering his pack to the floor. "Would it be possible to get a map of restaurants near here?" The long drive into the city meant that he'd missed his usual early supper, and his stomach was starting to complain about it. He could always go out and wander around himself until he found one—in all likelihood he'd be doing some exploring tomorrow just to get the lay of the land since he hadn't precisely had time during the battle—but right now he'd rather have an actual destination.

"Certainly." The television turned on abruptly and a map appeared on its surface. "Restaurants within a mile are marked in red; if you touch the associated icon, it will display a menu. Or you may feel free to order whatever you'd like delivered. There is a manned kitchen in the tower, but it normally only caters breakfast and lunch needs."

This time Steve couldn't halt his headshake. The idea of having food delivered when there was nothing wrong with his legs was even more ridiculous than multiple baths.

"Dr. Banner has left the lab and is on the way back to his suite," JARVIS volunteered suddenly. "Would you like me to inform him that you're here? He generally prefers to eat in, and I'm certain that he wouldn't mind if you joined him."

"Bruce stayed in New York?" Steve knew that Bruce had planned to accompany Tony back to the tower after Thor and Loki returned to Asgard, but he'd been under the impression that it was a temporary situation. "Yes, please, do."

"Right away."

For lack of anything else to do Steve found himself staring at the map for several minutes. Whatever else happened, it seemed that he wouldn't be lacking for food here, but somehow he doubted that any of these places would take labor in trade.

A knock interrupted his thoughts, and he turned. "I…come in?" he called.

He didn't know if his words were audible through the door, but the panel slid aside obligingly a moment later.

"Hey, Cap, I didn't know you were back in New York," Bruce greeted with a wide grin.

Steve found himself smiling just as widely in return, and he reached out to grip the proffered hand firmly. It was _definitely_ good to see a familiar face. "I just got in a little while ago. Tony said that if I ever needed a place to stay I could come here, and…well, it's time that I stopped wandering."

"He'll be glad to see you," Bruce said. "Unfortunately he's holed up in his lab at the moment and I'm not sure when he's going to be finished. JARVIS wouldn't even let me knock so I'm guessing it's pretty important."

Steve nodded.

"I was just planning to make spaghetti for dinner, but JARVIS said that you haven't eaten either. You're welcome to join me if you'd like, or we could go out somewhere."

"Spaghetti would be great," Steve said.

"Spaghetti it is, then. And I'm actually your neighbor. My suite is just across the lounge."

Steve matched Bruce's pace through the common room, nodding as Bruce indicated what the other doors besides the elevator were for—four more went to suites, another off to each side and then one on each side of the elevator all of which were currently unoccupied, plus a smaller public bath and what Bruce referred to as a telecom office—and then he found himself entering a suite that was almost the mirror image of his. This one looked a little more lived in with a jacket and coat hung on the hook by the door, a stack of books on the counter, and a few odds and ends sitting on the shelves, but it was still far larger than it needed to be.

"Is this really the kind of place that people live in in this century?" Steve had to ask as Bruce headed for the kitchen area and began digging around in one of the lower cabinets. The few motel rooms he'd stayed in on his journey had been smaller, as had his SHIELD-supplied apartment, but the former had been deliberately temporary and the latter mimicking something from his time so he had no idea what was normal for the average citizen.

Bruce barked a laugh. "Not even close. This is Tony's idea of a small apartment. Believe me, it could be worse. He actually wanted JARVIS to move me into one of the unused _floors_ of the tower so don't be surprised if he tries the same with you."

"A whole floor just for me? What would I do with that much space?"

"I have no idea. I swear, sometimes it feels like I'm giving myself culture shock every time I travel between here and the clinic in Calcutta." An entire bag of pasta went into the pot that Bruce had filled with water so either he remembered Steve's metabolism, had a similar issue because of his alter-ego, or some combination of the two. "Still, there really _isn't_ anything smaller in the tower. I looked. Temperature medium-high, please."

For a moment Steve thought that the last was directed at him, but then the burner under the pot Bruce had just placed on the stove came to life. "The stove does what you tell it?" he had to ask.

"Most things here are voice controlled. You get used to it. Oh, have a seat, please." He waved at the table. "Sorry, I don't get many guests. What would you like to drink? I have milk, water, and apple juice, but I don't drink much so I'm afraid the alcohol is all up at Tony's."

"Water is fine," Steve assured him. "You've been back to India, then?"

"Three times, now. I try and go back once a month or so and help out where I can, but it's not as critical as it could be since Doctors Without Borders finally found an actual medical doctor—which I am not; my second degree is in biology, not medicine—willing to settle down and run the clinic." He shook his head as he handed one glass to Steve and kept the other for himself, setting another pot on the stove and pouring a jar of what looked like meat sauce into it. "Temperature low, timer ten minutes." Something beeped in response, and Bruce picked up his glass and joined Steve at the table. "I was originally planning to go back and stay back anyway, once things calmed down here, but…." Another shake, and this time his teeth flashed in a quick smile. "Tony is very good with the bribery."

"Money?" Steve frowned. Granted that he didn't know Bruce well, but that was not what he would have expected.

"No, no. Or, well, I suppose it all comes down to that eventually, but I meant the labs. He told me once that they were Candy Land, but that doesn't even begin to describe it. Every bit of technology that you can think of right there at your fingertips, and if there's some tool you're imagining that doesn't exist yet, Tony can probably build it. It would take a scientist with more willpower than me to just walk away." A pause, and then in a lower tone despite the fact that there was no one but Steve here to hear him, "Plus, this room is Hulk-proofed as best Tony and I could manage—if you look, you'll see that the walls have reinforcing panels that yours don't and the windows have an extra layer of flex-shield over them as well—so it's as safe as anywhere."

Steve nodded in understanding.

"So what about you? I know you were planning a road trip, but where did you actually go?" Bruce asked in a more normal tone as he leaned back in his chair. "Did you see the Grand Canyon? That's one place that I've always wanted to visit, but somehow I've never had the time."

"I did," Steve said. "It was incredible. As was Yellowstone." The touring he'd done as Captain America had been concentrated around cities since bigger populations meant more people buying war bonds so he'd enjoyed the opportunity to take some of his time to visit the national parks. "And did you know that Mount St. Helens erupted?"

It wasn't until Steve caught Bruce hiding a yawn that he realized that the sky outside had darkened—apparently the lights were among the things that were automatic in this place—and he was starting to feel tired himself. A glance at the clock told him that they'd managed to talk for several hours after the spaghetti had been done away with, covering both Steve's road trip and Bruce's visits to the clinic as well as his current line of research. Well, Bruce's current line of research greatly simplified, Steve suspected, but he was looking forward to taking Bruce up on his invitation to visit the labs. He'd been so concerned about the Hulk getting loose before that it seemed that Tony wasn't the only teammate that he'd underestimated.

Bruce paused to smother another yawn at the end of a story about the last time he'd been in Chicago for a conference—several years ago, before the Hulk—a follow-up to Steve's comment about visiting the previously-Sears-now-Willis Tower in a Chicago that had grown exponentially since his time, and Steve shook his head. "You know, it's getting late. I should probably be getting back to my rooms."

"Yeah, sleep sounds pretty good," Bruce said, pushing himself to his feet. "Especially since...wow, it's past eleven. Uh, just leave your dishes by the sink and I'll take care of them later."

Steve did as he asked and then nodded politely as he turned for the door. "Thank you again for dinner."

"It was no problem. I'm glad you're back in New York. And I'll see you tomorrow. If I'm not here when you wake up, JARVIS can direct you down to my lab." He paused. "Hopefully we'll see Tony tomorrow too. This isn't the first time that he's locked himself in his lab for one thing or another, but I'd really have expected him to drop in to say hello by now."


	3. Host

_Thanks to everyone who read and AlienTourist, Qweb, Harm Marie, Shadow the Assassin, ImaMePanda, sunsethill, goldenpuon, Zarohk Korobase, and Yuki082 for reviewing._

* * *

Steve yawned and pushed himself into a sitting position, and only took him a fraction of a second to orient himself. Mostly because he'd never stayed anywhere this nice before, not even when he was on tour with the USO. The sun was just breaking over the horizon, and he took a few minutes to admire the view before freshening up and heading into his living area. "JARVIS?"

"Yes, Captain Rogers?"

"Has Bruce left for his lab yet?"

"Dr. Banner is still asleep."

"Ah." He probably should have expected that; the serum wouldn't let him go without sleep indefinitely, but it did allow him to function on less per night than the average person. "Are there any grocery stores near here?" he asked after a minute. As long as Tony had seen fit to provide a kitchen, there was no reason that he shouldn't use it, and his stomach was telling him that it was time for breakfast.

"The closest is two miles away and there are two others within five miles," JARVIS replied. "We do have a manned kitchen in the tower that would be happy to send up whatever you would like, though."

Again with the food delivery. Steve shook his head. "Thank you, but I'd like to pick up some supplies."

"As you wish. Would you care to see a map?"

"Please."

The television came to life again, three dots appearing around the tower in the center, and Steve memorized the route to the closest one quickly. It also appeared to be the smallest, but while a ten mile morning run sounded refreshing, running half of it while carrying a carton of eggs, a bottle of milk, and a variety of sandwich supplies sounded much less so. If only because the eggs would never survive. Bruce's kitchen had had pots and utensils and things, and after confirming that his did as well he turned for the door.

"Would you let Bruce known that I've gone out if he leaves for his lab before I return?" he asked as he stepped into the common room.

"Of course. Are you planning to take your motorcycle?"

"No, I'll just walk."

JARVIS took him down to the garage anyway, and Steve realized why when he noticed the unobtrusive staircase leading up and out the back of the building. It wasn't the same entrance he'd used yesterday to bring his motorcycle in, it led to an alley rather than the street proper, but that was much less attention-grabbing than going out through the lobby. Although he suspected that if he wasn't on JARVIS' approved list the heavy exterior door would never open for him no matter how he fought it.

It only took a minute to reach the street from the alley, and somehow despite his time in traffic yesterday he'd forgotten how crowded New York could be. It might be early, but there were already more than enough people out that he was glad that he hadn't planned on a run because even the joggers weren't moving particularly quickly. He'd never have been able to build up any speed while dodging all of the pedestrians.

Supplies were even more expensive at the little shop than they had been in the country, but no one else seemed to think it was unusual so he kept his mouth shut and handed over almost half of his remaining cash. He was going to have to find some sort of job _soon_ if he didn't want to rely on SHIELD while he was staying in the city.

The trip back to the tower was even slower since the number of people on the street had easily doubled during his short time in the store, and he made a mental note to find somewhere off-street to run. The apartment SHIELD had put him in had been far enough off the beaten path that he was able to run outdoors in the early morning or late evening, but that obviously wasn't going to be the case around here. As it was he nearly ran into a woman walking her dog when the foot traffic in front of him suddenly slowed even further, and after an apology that she didn't even acknowledge he followed the gaze of the crowd upwards to see a form rocketing across the sky towards the ocean. With the sun behind it he couldn't make out much, but given that it was a flying metal suit…well, apparently he wouldn't be seeing Tony today after all.

The crowd picked up its pace again a few seconds later—even Iron Man wasn't enough to distract New Yorkers from their morning routines for very long—and Steve continued to move at their pace until he was able to escape down the steps into the tower.

"Did you find everything that you were looking for, Captain Rogers?" JARVIS asked as he stepped back into the elevator.

The elevator began to rise as he spoke, and Steve nodded. "I did, thank you. And Steve is fine."

"Of course, Captain Rogers." There was a minute of silence as the elevator continued to rise, but it came to a halt sooner than Steve had expected. "A moment, please."

The door opened on a room that Steve hadn't seen before, but he didn't have the opportunity to look around because Tony, his arms crossed across his chest and his head hanging, stepped inside as soon as they were open.

"Tony?"

Tony looked up and then blinked slowly. "JARVIS, what's the probability that Captain America is standing in my elevator versus the probability of me hallucinating that Captain America standing in my elevator?"

"There is a 100 percent probability that Captain Rogers is standing in your elevator. However given your lack of sleep and adequate nutrition of late, there is also a three percent chance that you are hallucinating."

"Hm." He blinked again. "Well, three percent is three percent." He unfolded enough to free a hand and poke Steve's arm.

"Tony?" Steve repeated.

"So you're not a hallucination. That's good. Hello."

"Hello," Steve returned, automatically shaking the hand proffered in greeting. "Are you okay?" He realized the absurdity of the question as soon as the words were out of his mouth and rephrased. "What's wrong?"

Tony stepped back, turning to put his back against the side of the elevator as it began to rise again, and waved his hand vaguely. "Nothing to worry about. Just a little short on sleep. For some reason the third day is always the hardest."

"You've been awake for three days?" Steve had done that sort of thing a few times, generally after an extended string of skirmishes when _someone_ had to stand watch even though it was highly unlikely that the enemy had anyone still capable of conscious thought either, but he couldn't imagine why Tony would be doing that to himself here and now.

"Sixty-seven point six hours, to be precise," JARVIS said before Tony could answer. "And, you haven't eaten anything in over thirty nine hours, sir."

"I have so," Tony objected. "I ate whatever that…thing…was that Rhodey threatened to force down my throat if I didn't chew and swallow for myself." He paused. "I think there was cheese."

"That was a burrito, and that was thirty-nine hours ago."

"I've had coffee."

"Miss Potts has made it clear on numerous occasions that coffee is not to be considered food."

"Maybe you should eat something and get some sleep," Steve suggested when Tony looked inclined to continue the argument. He wanted to talk to Tony, but he also wanted him fully conscious for the conversation, and right now he was a little bit concerned that Tony was going to fall over right in front of him.

"Definitely the plan, Dr. Cap, although probably not in that order." Tony yawned and then shook his head quickly, and when he opened his eyes again a moment later he seemed slightly more alert. "When did you get here? Did JARVIS get you set up with whatever you need?"

"Yes, I'm—everything is swell. And I got here yesterday, I was just out getting some groceries." He held up the bags he was carrying.

"Groceries?" He looked vaguely alarmed. "JARVIS, what's wrong with the kitchen?"

"The kitchen is in perfect working order." The elevator came to a halt, opening on a bright room that Steve hadn't seen before. "My apologies, Captain Rogers, but I thought it best to get Mr. Stark back to his rooms first."

Tony stepped out as Steve was assuring JARVIS that it was no problem, and then Tony paused, turning back to Steve. "So are you planning to stay for a while, or is this just another stop on your trip?"

"No, I think I've done enough traveling. I was thinking I'd stay for a week or two, if you don't mind."

"Stay as long as you like, it's no problem. And that means you'll still be here when I'm awake again. Good. Goodnight." He nodded and turned, heading in the direction of another door as Steve echoed his 'goodnight' reflexively despite the fact that it was still very much morning.

The elevator door shut and the elevator began to sink again, and Steve couldn't help a frown. "_Is_ he okay?"

"He will be fine. In all likelihood he'll sleep most of the day and then awaken again at dinnertime."

"And that will really be the first time he's eaten in almost two days?" _That_ Steve couldn't do. "Shouldn't he eat before he sleeps?"

"He tends to lose track of time when he's working, and if I send anything up now he's more likely to fall asleep in it than actually consume it."

The elevator came to a halt, this time opening on the common room of Steve's floor, and he stepped out and headed into his rooms. And then froze, arm half-raised in the process of putting his groceries on the counter. "JARVIS? If Tony is still here, who left in the Iron Man suit earlier?"

"No one. All Iron Man suits are accounted for."

"But I saw someone flying east on my way back." He knew that _he_ wasn't hallucinating things, and if the suit had returned to the tower he was sure that he would have seen it.

"Ah, I understand your confusion. That was not Iron Man. That was War Machine."

As far as explanations went, that wasn't a very useful one. "Isn't Tony out of the weapons business? Since when does he build war machines?"

"No, in this instance the suit is named War Machine."

"Oh. I didn't realize that he ever designed suits for other people." That definitely hadn't been in his SHIELD file, and it equally definitely should have been. Although…. Steve frowned. He hadn't really had very long to look through the SHIELD files that Fury had given him before he'd been picked up and taken to the carrier, and he knew that a good portion of them had been redacted anyway—national security, or something like that—but something had felt slightly off about the short video from the drone fight. The presence of a second suit might explain some of that.

"He doesn't," JARVIS replied as Steve tried to recall the specific images that had given him pause. "War Machine was and is a special situation."

Something in JARVIS' tone suddenly suggested that further questions would not be welcome, and despite his curiosity, in the end it wasn't Steve's business. He let the subject go, putting away the groceries and then setting about making breakfast.

Breakfast was followed by a tour of Bruce's labs, and while Steve didn't understand as much as he might have liked, what he could follow was impressive. After lunch Bruce had a meeting with another researcher for some project they were doing together, though, so Steve was left to his own devices. At least until his request for a list of local gyms from JARVIS ended up becoming a tour of the tower. He hadn't really intended it that way, but as it turned out there were two gyms actually in the tower, a public one on one of the lower levels and then a smaller one on one of the private floors, and he'd made the mistake of asking 'What else is in this place?' when he'd seen the full-sized track and _lap pool_ in the public one. It had been more of an exclamation than an actual request, but JARVIS hadn't taken it that way, and once the tour had started he hadn't wanted to be rude.

Most of the public levels had been…well, not overly interesting, as far as Steve was concerned. Aside from the gym and the kitchen, which was also its own level and more like an eating area with innumerable tables surrounding several small restaurants than anything else, there were a dozen floors of suites for business guests and at least three times that number full of offices and conference rooms and…well, whatever else business people needed. Despite the fundraisers he'd attended with the USO that wasn't a world that Steve had ever belonged to, and he was just as glad to leave those levels behind.

There were some empty levels and then a block of open labs as one went higher, both scientific and technology-related as JARVIS explained them, and a reference library that would have been more interesting if it had contained something besides technical manuals and scientific journals. After that came another ten or so levels of research and development, the secured labs used by Bruce and Tony and presumably others that required special clearance to access. Well, special clearance or an invitation, apparently, given his earlier visit, but this time JARVIS didn't offer to stop and Steve didn't ask.

A block of currently-unused floors separated the labs from the private levels—and as long as they were here, was Steve absolutely certain that he wouldn't prefer a private floor instead of just his suite? JARVIS would be happy to have his things moved down—and then came the smaller gym on the same floor as a library that did interest him, a couple floors of private suits including the floor that Steve and Bruce were staying on, and finally several levels reserved for Tony's use.

The tour concluded with a stop on the upper deck, and since he wasn't quite hungry enough for dinner yet Steve decided to go change and check out the private gym more closely. There was no track there and even more devices that he didn't recognize than there had been in the little gym by his SHIELD apartment, but unlike the larger gym it was unoccupied and free weights were free weights. And he certainly knew what the punching bag in the corner was for. Only one, though, and one that looked like it hadn't gotten much use at that, so he reminded himself to hold back as he wrapped his hands.

He hadn't stopped at many gyms in the last three months, and it felt good to lose himself in the familiar rhythm of boxing. He still had to fight to keep a few of the memories that would send the bag flying from intruding, but somehow it wasn't as hard as it had been before he'd taken his trip.

"Either that's a lot tougher than I realized or you're taking it easy."

Steve's final punch went wild as he jerked around at the question.

"Oops. Didn't mean to startle you."

Judging by Tony's smirk that was exactly what he'd intended, but Steve declined to rise to the bait. "You're feeling better?" he asked instead.

"I'm fine. You were, weren't you?"

"I was what?"

"Taking it easy on the punching bag."

Steve shrugged. "I have to. I break them when I don't."

"Hm." Tony tilted his head, staring for a moment, and then he shook his head. "Well, JARVIS has informed me that it's now been forty-seven point three hours since I've had anything to eat, and if I don't eat within the next point seven he's going to go tattling to Pepper. The traitor."

"The count is now at point five," JARVIS interrupted.

"You know, NASA has been drooling over you for years."

"Yes, you've mentioned that on several occasions."

His tone made Steve bite back a grin, even if he had no idea who this Pepper person was.

"_Anyway_," Tony said with an exaggerated sigh, "he also informs me that you've been here since yesterday afternoon, and apparently being mostly unconscious when you greet someone is considered lousy hosting—I'd love to know when he downloaded Miss Manners—so I thought I'd see if you wanted to join me for dinner."

"Sure," Steve agreed readily.

"Good. Do you like pizza? I already ordered pizza."

"Pizza's fine." He should probably be annoyed by the presumption, but the fact was that pizza really was fine. It wasn't as if he'd ever had the opportunity to become a picky eater. He glanced down at his wrapped hands and workout clothes. "Give me a few minutes to change?"

"JARVIS will bring you up whenever you're ready. The pizza should be here by then."

After he'd changed out of his sweat suit, JARVIS took him up to the same floor he'd dropped Tony off on earlier, and this time Steve took the opportunity to look around. The setup was similar to the common area of his floor, with a sitting area and a kitchen and all of that and several doors leading off it, but this one was obviously lived in, and he doubted that Tony shared it with anyone. Except…. He paused over a picture of Tony and a woman standing together, their arms around each other.

"That's Pepper," Tony said, coming up beside him and handing him a plate.

"Your girlfriend?" Steve wouldn't have guessed that Tony had a girlfriend, he'd gotten the impression from a few articles he'd seen that Tony was rather loose, but he knew that he wasn't married and judging by the picture the two of had to be more than casual friends. Plus there was the fact that JARVIS was keeping her up to date on Tony's status.

Tony nodded. "That, plus she's the CEO Stark Industries."

Steve's eyes widened—Tony actually let someone else run his company?—but if Tony noticed his surprise he didn't show it.

"Sometimes I think the board likes her better than me," he continued. "Well, most of the time, really. It seems like I should be hurt by that, but then I remember that I can actually get things done when I'm not stuck in meetings listening to them. Anyway, she's in Japan this week, but you'll meet her when she gets back. Oh, help yourself." He waved a hand at the counter where several boxes sat. "There's beer in the fridge or wine and liquor in the cabinet."

Alcohol didn't have much of an effect on Steve, but he liked a beer now and again as much as the next man. He opened the fridge and reached for a bottle and then stopped. It wasn't that there weren't bottles available—he'd have been in more trouble if he'd wanted something non-alcoholic—but none of the half-dozen or so labels were ones that he recognized. Several of them weren't even in English.

"What's wrong?" Tony asked, coming up behind him.

"I don't…." He gestured and then shrugged. "I've never had any of these." He could just pick one and drink it, of course, even if he didn't care for it he'd drank things he didn't like in the past, but it seemed like that would be a shame with so much variety available.

"Right. Well, what kind did you like back when dinosaurs roamed the earth?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Budweiser. There wasn't much else around." At least not that he could afford, and then he'd been over in Europe where you drank whatever was offered on the rare occasion when you had the opportunity.

Tony shook his head and reached past him to grab a bottle. "Here, try this one. Even Bruce admits it's pretty good, at least the once in a blue moon I can actually get him to drink something besides juice and water."

"Thank you." Pizza came next, and judging by the writing on the boxes Tony didn't share his aversion to the idea of delivery. Maybe it was just another thing to get used to. Or maybe it was a Tony thing.

Tony had a dining table, but it was buried in a pile of what looked like schematics, and Steve ended up following Tony into the sitting area and taking a seat on one of the chairs beside the couch. There was silence for a minute as they both ate their first piece of pizza—Steve was hungrier than he'd realized, and for all his complaints about being forced to eat Tony's slice first disappeared just as quickly—and then Steve cleared his throat. "Thank you for letting me stay here."

Tony shook his head. "It's really not a problem. We've got plenty of extra space. Where did JARVIS end up putting you, anyway?"

"The suite across from Bruce's."

"What?" He frowned. "JARVIS, I know we've still got a ridiculous number of floors sitting unused so why did you put our guests in the same place?"

"Because they each refused their own floors," JARVIS returned. "In fact, Captain Rogers indicated that even a single-bedroom suite was overly large for him."

Tony shot him a look, and Steve shook his head quickly. "Please don't misunderstand, it's all very nice, but I really don't need more than a bed."

"He doesn't need more than a bed, he says." Tony sighed. "Well, let JARVIS know if you decide you'd like something larger."

Steve couldn't imagine why he would—how he _could_, and besides, he was only going to be here a week or two—but there was no reason to object. It wasn't as if he ever had to take Tony up on it. He nodded.

"So what have you been up to these last couple months?" Tony asked around another mouthful of pizza. "You ticked SHIELD—and Fury—off something awful when you stopped using your credit card regularly."

Judging by his grin Tony approved entirely, and Steve felt his lips twitch in return. "A lot of sightseeing, mostly. The national parks, some of the cities I visited on tour before but never got a chance to really see, that kind of thing. How did you know that I stopped using my card?"

"Because pretty much as soon as you stopped they started hounding me. For some reason they were under the impression that I was keeping an eye on you somehow."

Steve tensed. "Were you?"

"You're a big boy, Cap. I figured you could take care of yourself. Besides, if I was going to keep tabs on you I'd be obliged to keep tabs on the others too, and while Bruce makes it easy and it might be kind of fun to see if I could build something that will transmit all the way from Asgard—actually, I should talk to Thor about that the next time he turns up—I don't think I'd like what our two favorite officially-spies-and-we-won't-talk-about-what-_isn't_-on-their-resumes would do to me if they found out that I'd slipped trackers into their shoes." A pause. "Not to mention that slipping trackers into people's shoes is just so 70s."

That was a very good point. Well, maybe not the part about the 70s, Steve had no idea what had been going on then, but about how Natasha and Clint would feel about being watched. And he was glad that _someone_ had had faith that he was capable of surviving on his own in this time. He finished off his second slice of pizza and then paused, debating whether he should say it now or wait until they were both finished eating. In the end he'd never been one to put things off, though, and he looked back up, waiting until Tony met his eyes. "I owe you an apology. For what I said back on the carrier. I—"

"Ah, no, no, no." Tony interrupted. "Crazy Loki and the Glow Stick of Doom, remember? There's nothing to apologize for."

"Yes, there is. Loki might have been the…well, the instigator, I suppose, for lack of a better term, but I was the one who said those things. And I was wrong." He shook his head. "You probably already know this, but I knew your father."

Tony's jaw tightened.

"We were friends, and—"

"I don't want to hear it," Tony interrupted, and all traces of laughter were gone from his face.

"What?"

"I don't want to hear it. He might have been a great friend, but he was a lousy father, and I don't particularly enjoy hearing about him."

Steve stared. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but that wasn't it. "I don't—I wasn't going to say anything about him. I mean, not anything else. Honest." Not that Howard hadn't been a good friend, but the particulars weren't really relevant at the moment. "I was just going to say that it's still hard sometimes when someone I expect to be here isn't, and three months ago it was worse. And I know it wasn't fair of me, but you were there and he wasn't and…well, I made some judgments that I shouldn't have. I am sorry."

"Well, I'm still blaming the lunatic with the crazy hat," Tony said after a minute, and if his words were casual, Steve didn't miss the fact that he had begun to relax again. "But if it matters so much, apology accepted. The lab experiment crack was out of line too."

Steve smiled.

"But that was _not_ an apology, because it was entirely Loki's fault," he added quickly.

"Of course."


	4. Getting to Business

_Thanks to everyone who read and Qweb, Zarohk Korobase, Harm Marie, and Alien Tourist for reviewing. _

* * *

Steve was awake at his usual hour the next morning, and since he now knew where a track was, he headed down to the public gym for a run before breakfast. There were a few people already there despite the hour, scattered among various machines, but the track itself was empty, which suited him perfectly. With no one to share it with, he could run as fast as he wanted to.

By the time he finished his stomach was informing him that it was time for breakfast, and he took the elevator back up to his rooms and showered and changed quickly. And realized as he did so that he was running dangerously low on clean clothing. Fortunately taking a good look at what was around the tower had been on his list of things to do today anyway.

"JARVIS?" he asked, heading back into the kitchen and pulling out eggs.

"Yes, Captain Rogers?"

"Is there a Laundromat near here?"

"There is, but Stark Industries has a contract in place for cleaning services. If there is anything that you would like washed, you can put it in the appropriate receptacle in your bathroom and it will be returned to you within twenty-four hours. Unless, of course, you need something dry cleaned, in which case it can be left at the front desk or I can arrange for a pick up."

Steve nearly dropped an egg onto the counter instead of into the pan as he'd intended. "I can wash my own clothes. I just…I need a Laundromat."

"As you wish."

That was the same thing he'd said yesterday when Steve had asked about a grocery store, and as he finished cracking his eggs into the pan, Steve wondered if that was JARVIS' idea of subtle disapproval. Well, if it was, he didn't care. The new washing machines and dryers were improvement enough, he didn't need someone else loading and unloading them for him.

"Would you—I beg your pardon, sir, but Mr. Stark is requesting that I put him through. Do you mind?"

"No, please do." Steve felt better now that his apology had been offered and accepted, and while Tony might have denied that he was apologizing in return, the conversation afterwards while they finished off the pizza had been considerably more pleasant than any they'd shared thus far. They hadn't talked about anything serious, granted, Steve's trip and some projects that Tony was working on for the most part, but for two people with very different personalities it hadn't been uncomfortable.

Steve still found Tony brash and more than a little arrogant, but the man was legitimately a genius, and when he wasn't deliberately baiting Steve he was also rather humorous. And apparently either their battle together or the fact that Steve had deliberately slipped away from SHIELD and Fury or some combination of the two had convinced Tony that he wasn't a complete drip and therefore didn't need so much baiting.

"Hey, Capsicle, are you up?" Tony asked, his voice coming through the speakers JARVIS that usually used."

"I'm awake. And it's Steve." 'Cap' he didn't mind, 'Capsicle' on the other hand….

"Right, you mentioned that. Well, apparently I'm going to have to go to Malibu later today for some PR thing that Pepper set up and I didn't even know about it until this morning."

"She put it on your calendar over a month ago," JARVIS interrupted.

"Did anyone ask you? I don't remember anyone asking you. Anyway, there are a couple other things I should get done as long as I'm on the west coast so I'll probably be out there for a couple days, and I was thinking that if you wanted that lab tour, we could do it this morning. Unless you've got other plans."

Steve shook his head automatically. "No, I haven't got any other plans." He could go to the Laundromat just as easily in the afternoon. "But I was just about to eat breakfast so do you mind if I come down afterwards?"

"That's fine."

It didn't take him long to finish his meal once the eggs were done, and this time when the door opened on Tony's lab he had a chance to look around. What he saw, though…well, he knew that Tony had been simplifying things a great deal last night, and as much as he was genuinely interested in a few things that Tony had talked about, he had a feeling that this tour was going to be even harder to follow than the one of Bruce's labs. He stepped cautiously into the room, peering through the low lighting. "Tony?"

"Over here."

Steve stepped around tables laid out with bits of machinery, some of which had diagrams floating above them—projections, Fury had called the technology, when Steve had first seen it on the helicarrier—some of which didn't, and none of which were particularly comprehensible, heading in the direction of Tony's voice.

Tony was beside a platform with an almost life-sized three dimensional image of a suit hovering above it, his finger tapping absently against his jaw, and Steve frowned as he stepped closer. "Is that your new Iron Man suit?" It was just another projection, granted, but if it was going to be Iron Man, he couldn't say that he liked it very much. Not that he knew anything about designing suits, but it was far bulkier than either of the two suits he'd seen Tony in previously, with more guns than one person should reasonably need. Including what looked like a cross between a rifle and a small cannon attached to the back with hinging almost certainly intended to make it rise up and fire over the helmet. The coloring wasn't even right; it was black and grey instead of red and gold.

He reached out without thinking to see if he'd been right about the cannon, only to pull his hand back quickly as his manners reasserted themselves. Except he'd apparently touched something without realizing it because the projection suddenly spun and inverted and shrank down to less than a quarter the size it had been, and he felt himself flush as he stared at the image now floating in the air in front of them. "I'm sorry, I…." His first instinct was to fix whatever he'd done, but that generally required _knowing_ what he'd done, and right now he didn't have a clue.

"No one can ever keep their hands off my technology."

Steve felt his flush deepen.

Tony grinned. "Relax, Spangles, you just got your hand inside the receptor feed. " He reached out and making a twisting, pushing motion with one hand that somehow made the image shift back and around to the size and position that it had originally been in. "See, all better. And for the record, that is most certainly not my Mark VIII. I have taste."

Steve might have debated that—after correcting another nickname that he didn't go by—but Tony continued too quickly for him to interrupt.

"That's War Machine."

"War Machine? I saw him flying away from the tower yesterday." And maybe JARVIS had given the impression that questions weren't welcome, but there had been no hesitation in Tony's voice when he'd said the name.

"Yeah, Rhodey had to get back to I'm-not-supposed-to-know-istan ASAP so it's been a marathon repair session these last couple days." A pause. "As soon as possible."

"I knew that one."

"Great, ASAP and flying monkeys, I'll make a note. The repairs shouldn't have taken anywhere _near_ that long, but General Jackass let some particularly moronic tech throw a patch on the knee joint where it took a direct missile hit a few weeks back." Tony glared at the display. "The original design is mine so obviously it's good, and when Rhodey's using his brain he vets his own techs or comes to me for particularly tricky repairs, but oh, no, he just had to follow orders. He could have lost his leg if the couplings had burst inward instead of outward when they failed , and as it was I had to rebuild damn near everything down the left side from scratch because the tech got that wrong too and the overload caused a chain reaction all the way back to the reactor. Not to mention that I had to fix all the crap that went wrong when he hit the ground."

"That sounds bad." At least the losing the leg part did, even if he hadn't really followed the rest. "But I didn't know that you built suits for other people."

"I don't."

His confusion, especially since Tony had just admitted that the original design was his, must have shown on his face because Tony waved a hand at the projection.

"JARVIS, pop up the Mark II."

Steve glanced guiltily upwards—he should have realized that JARVIS was 'here' too—but if JARVIS disapproved of Steve's question, he didn't say anything. Instead the image of War Machine shrunk and shifted to the side, and another image appeared beside him. This one looked more like the Iron Man that Steve was familiar with, albeit clearly an earlier model, and he frowned and leaned closer. But kept his hands firmly at his sides, just in case. "They're the same." Or they were similar, anyway; he could see the lines of Iron Man underneath War Machine's bulk. He straightened and looked back at Tony. "You turned an Iron Man _into_ War Machine?"

"Technically the engineers that that idiot Hammer pulled in did." He rocked a hand. "It's a long story, but I got a little drunk at the expo a while back, and Rhodey borrowed my Mark II to keep me from doing anything exceptionally stupid. Not that I was going to, you understand, but he worries. Except then afterwards he wouldn't give it back." Tony shook his head, and something darker than his earlier glare passed across his face. "The military had been drooling over Iron Man ever since they saw him, but it's just not cool when your friend steals your tech. Anyway, they made most of the modifications while trying to reverse-engineer it, although 'modifications' in this case just means that they added some armor and stuck on a hell of a lot of guns. The only things they succeeded in doing on their own were building the world's most hackable drones which were, of course, promptly hacked, used to shoot up a bunch of civilians, tried to kill Rhodey and me, and, oh, yeah, all exploded in the end."

"He gave me some footage of the drone fight," Steve admitted. "I just didn't realize that there was a second suit there."

"He as in Fury?" Tony shrugged. "I told you, his secrets have secrets. Even when there's no good reason for it. Anyway, my Mark II has been War Machine ever since."

"I can't believe you let them keep it," Steve said after a minute.

"I didn't let _them_ keep it, I let _Rhodey_ keep it. If it had been anyone else I'd have figured out some way to get it back or permanently disable it, but he's…." Tony trailed off with another shrug and a shake of his head.

As far as explanations went that wasn't much of one, but before Steve could press, Tony started speaking again.

"Anyway, I rewrote the code again, and the persona lock I had JARVIS jam in is nasty enough that nobody besides Rhodey or myself should ever be able to fire one of those weapons which means that it's about as safe as it can be. Even with General Jackass officially in charge."

The fact that some random person couldn't just come along and use it was a relief, although Steve would hope for better from soldiers anyway, and he tilted his head. "The general's name isn't really—"

"No," Tony said with a snort, reaching out and swatting the Iron Man image aside into nothingness with one hand while the other magnified War Machine again. "But it damn well should be since he not only didn't get Rhodey back here pronto after that hit to the knee, he sent him out on another mission."

Steve debated pointing out that you couldn't go around calling a general 'jackass,' but he had a feeling that under the circumstances—and given who he was speaking to—it would just be a waste of breath. "So what's wrong?" he asked instead as Tony began to frown again. "Did you not get all the repairs done before he had to leave?"

"Oh, they're done. If they weren't, I would have spent a couple hours overriding _my_ persona locks and put him in the Mark VIII, and never mind that he has no taste and would want to repaint it and add a ridiculous number of guns."

Steve stared. "You would have given him Iron Man?"

Tony glanced over and then away. "Loaned. And officially I have no idea what's going on over there, but unofficially there's no way in hell I'd send him back out in a suit that's less than a hundred percent, especially since I know damn well that not only is he still hurting from the crash, he's also going to be on point for the next offensive. Which, for the record, I also know nothing about. And even though I don't think that colonels are supposed to be doing that sort of thing anyway."

Steve frowned, and then his mind finally put two and two together. JARVIS had said Colonel Rhodes was War Machine, Tony said Rhodey. The fact that Tony's friend was a colonel was a little surprising, particularly given his obvious disrespect for the general and military-type authority in general, but it still wasn't nearly as surprising as the fact that the man been allowed to steal an Iron Man and keep it so Steve let it go. "So what's bothering you, then?"

"That." Tony reached out and made a grabbing, twisting motion and the suit rotated and magnified, showing a much closer view of the miniature cannon that Steve had originally wanted to look at. "Rhodey says they want to up the minigun payload again, and I'm already not happy about the force it's putting on the suit."

"What do you mean?"

"JARVIS, bring up the specs from the last firing test."

Steve expected a graph or something like that and was surprised when the image of a static War Machine was replaced with a mobile one. Nothing else was visible in the projection, including whatever the target was, but the image showed the minigun flipping forward and firing, and as it did so a number of bars appeared overlaying the suit in various directions. Most were green or yellow, but there was a shallow red V across the shoulders with a thin but equally red line extending down the back.

"See, right there." Tony reached out and tapped the V, and a table of numbers popped up to one side. "These were taken during the last firing test, and take a look at those torque readings. He's already using the repulsors at almost full power to keep from getting thrown or spun like a damn top every time he has to burst fire."

The numbers didn't mean much to Steve, but the comment about being thrown did. "You're worried about the recoil?"

"Exactly. Like I said, right now he's offsetting with the repulsors, and it keeps him upright even if it isn't particularly elegant, but they've been upping the payload bit by bit for a while now, and that offset is putting a lot of tension on the suit."

"But they've had recoilless weapons for years," Steve pointed out. They hadn't been common during the war, but he knew they'd existed.

"No such thing as truly recoilless," Tony sad with a shake of his head. "Physics doesn't like it. There's just recoil that's compensated for, and the design of the minigun nullifies almost all of the conventional mitigation techniques. Even though it's fixed to the suit it's hinged for 360 degree firing so dispensing a blast out the back is out, and what little compression chamber it had was removed in the first redesign in favor of a better connection to the ammo chain. Because hey, he's firing from a metal suit so he'll be okay."

"You can't add more power to the repulsors?"

"I could, but not without putting a drain on the power levels as a whole, and from what Rhodey's said he can't afford to lose much battle time. And it doesn't change the stress it's putting on the suit. Right now it's holding together, but enough of that and a tension fracture isn't out of the question. Although the thing that's most likely to go first is the hinging, and I don't see a gun swinging around by the ammo strap and still firing ending well for anyone."

"Well, can't he just tell the general that? I mean, isn't it working fine as it is?"

"He could, but he won't. Partly because he likes big guns—I'm pretty sure that he's the one who wanted it there in the first place—and partly because it wouldn't matter anyway. A heavier payload means more damage faster, and that's what the general wants."

Steve frowned as he considered the image. "Do they really want you to figure out a way to fix it, or do they want you to design a round with a heavier payload that isn't harder to fire?"

Tony glanced over, a wry smile crossing his face. "Well, give the kid a cookie, you got there almost as fast as I did. Officially they don't want me to do anything yet, I'm not even supposed to know there's a problem although I'm not sure how any engineer could look at those numbers and miss it, but you can bet that when the recoil finally becomes a problem that they can't fix—which, I'm damn sure this next upgrade is going to be it—that's the 'suggestion' that they're going to make. Since it was my suit to start with, you know. And never mind that the obvious solution is to _stop making the gun bigger_."

"Are you going to do it?" Steve asked, trying to keep the judgment out of his voice.

"No. I'm not supplying anyone with any more weapons. But I do want to find a fix for the recoil problem, even if it does drain the power supply." He tilted his head. "What did you do for the shoulder mounted guns back in the dark ages?"

* * *

"Mr. Stark, you will need to leave now if you wish to arrive in Malibu on time."

"Oh." Tony's shoulder twitched. "Well, I don't, so that solves that. What about shifting the ammo—"

"Miss Potts asks me to remind you that this event is very important, especially after you so conveniently missed the dinner party last month."

"I had a flat tire."

Steve turned to stare at him, and JARVIS declined to comment.

"You should go," Steve said. "War Machine isn't even here right now. You'll have more time to tweak it later."

"But I'm tweaking it now. Besides, didn't I promise you a tour of the lab?" A triumphant grin crossed his face. "See, I can't possibly go."

"Tony, get out of here. I'll still be here when you get back."

Tony scowled. "You're all conspiring against me."

"I don't think myself, a woman I've never met, and a…JARVIS…really counts as a conspiracy. Besides, even _I_ know it's not a good idea for a man to make his girl angry."

Tony sighed. "All right, all right. What is it with all the annoying responsible types moving in, anyway? JARVIS, prep the Mark VIII."

"Already done, sir."

Even if Tony would let him, Steve had no desire to remain in Tony's lab without him there—heaven only knew how much trouble he might cause, all of it entirely unintentional—so he followed him into the elevator. And then frowned. "Where is Iron Man, if not in your lab?"

"Private workshop."

"Ah." Presumably that was on one of the levels reserved for Tony's use, and there was no invitation attached to Tony's answer, but even if there had been Steve would have declined since he didn't want to be the cause of Tony being late. He got out on his floor after wishing Tony a pleasant flight, running through his tasks for the rest of the afternoon. If he took his laundry down to the Laundromat now, he could get lunch at a café while it washed and then take a look around and see what types of employment might be available while it dried.

It had been fun working on War Machine with Tony, even if it had taken up the entire morning. Tony had done most of the actual _work_, moving projected things around and telling JARVIS to shift material compositions and change thrust coefficients and do a bunch of other stuff that Steve hadn't really understood, but Steve had been able to offer some tactical insight especially once Tony had shown him footage of War Machine in battle. And, somewhat to his surprise, Tony had listened. It had been interesting to see how the changes the two of them came up with had worked out in simulations, even if they hadn't reached a perfect solution to the recoil problem yet. Not that he wasn't in agreement with Tony that the suit didn't _need_ a bigger gun, but the whole exercise was something that he'd never done before. Something that he wouldn't mind doing again if whatever Tony was working on happened to align with his abilities.

JARVIS brought up a map showing two nearby Laundromats when Steve requested it, and if he disapproved, he didn't say anything else when Steve stuffed the clothes that needed cleaning into his pack. Given the time of day there was no competition for machines when he got there, and while he did have to wait for a table at the little café in front of the tower, he'd gotten there before the majority of the lunch crowd so he didn't have to wait long. He'd actually visited the café before, back when he'd been living in the SHIELD-supplied apartment, and while he could pick out a few things that had changed since the battle, most of the area looked basically the same. Had been repaired to look the same given all the damage that had been done.

As he took a seat, scoping out the area automatically, he accidentally caught the eye of one of the women at the table in front of his, and her eyes widened. "Oh, my God, that's—it's Captain America. Look, look," she hissed to the other ladies at her table, pointing at Steve.

The three women she was dining with all turned at once, and he fought down a flush. And the urge to hide under the table. Even back when he'd been touring with the USO and deliberately putting himself on display he'd always been glad to get back to whatever room he'd been assigned at the end of the day, and after the battle here…well, he'd been lucky to get out of the city quickly. Not that people across the rest of the country hadn't seen footage—as far as he could tell, snapshots of the battle, including several of himself after he'd lost his helmet, had been on television _everywhere_ for several weeks—but no one expected to see Captain America sketching in the Painted Desert so aside from a sidelong look now and again he'd been able to stay mostly anonymous. Now that he was back in New York, he should have known that people would recognize his face more often.

"Would you like to move to a different table?" a quiet voice asked, and he looked up to find a young woman, the same one who'd waited on him once before unless he was mistaken, smiling sympathetically. "There's one in the corner that'll be freeing up in a minute."

"Thank you, ma'am, but I'll be all right." As much as he might want to, hiding wasn't an acceptable option. And fortunately, while the woman had pointed him out to the other ladies at her table, she hadn't been loud enough for other tables to hear over their conversations.

"Can I get you something?" she asked.

"A club sandwich, please. And a cup of coffee."

"Coming right up. And…well, thank you."

He tilted his head.

"I was one of the ones that they had cornered in the bank that day. A lot of us here were."

"Oh. Well, no thanks necessary, ma'am. I'm glad you're okay."

She smiled and then stepped away with his order, and when he caught another look from the women at the next table he suddenly wished that he hadn't been quite so thorough when he'd emptied his pack in preparation for doing laundry. At least if he had his pencil and sketchpad he'd have an excuse for keeping his head down.

His sandwich and coffee came quickly, along with a piece of pie, and she smiled when he looked up questioningly. "From all of us. And don't worry about the check."

"I can't accept—"

"Really. I know it's not much, but we want to."

"Thank you," he said after a moment. He felt a little guilty accepting it, but refusing would just be ungracious. At least he hadn't ordered anything particularly extravagant.

"Is there anything else that I can get you?"

"No, thank you. Oh, but would you happen to know if there's an art store anywhere near here?" He should have brought a pencil and paper with him anyway, just in case he needed to take notes for a job…he could always go back to the tower before moving his laundry, but since he only had a few pages left in his sketchpad, he might as well pick up a new one.

"That's right, you were sketching the last time you were here."

Steve was surprised she remembered when she hadn't even known who he was the first time he'd come—he was surprised that she even remembered him being here at all—but he nodded anyway.

"Well, it's not specifically an art store, but the Greens have been running their hobby shop for as long as I can remember, and I know they have a drawing section. If you go down to that corner and then two blocks west, it's just past the pizzeria."

"Thank you."

"Not a problem. Enjoy your lunch."


	5. Qualifications

_Thanks to everyone who read and Harm Marie, AlienTourist, TheShadowArchitect, Qweb, usa123, MTGirlForever, Preferably, and a guest for reviewing. Also, I've pulled in a little of Steve's real/comic history here, but as far as I know it doesn't conflict with anything movie-based._

* * *

"You understand that this is just a short-term thing," the woman said, once again giving him a sidelong look that Steve suspected meant that she recognized his face but couldn't quite figure out from where. Well, that or that she doubted his ability to understand simple English. "Just until Danny's shoulder is better."

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed, a little disturbed by the fact that he couldn't decide which of those scenarios he'd prefer more.

"Cash for the boxes that you unload since I'm not paying someone that I don't know by the hour," she continued as if he hadn't spoken, "and there are no benefits except for the employee discount. No health or anything like that so don't go doing anything stupid. And you're to be here on time every morning. We open at six on the dot, and I expect my storeroom stocked by then."

Steve nodded again. "Yes, ma'am." Although he suspected that it wouldn't take him nearly as long to unload the boxes as she thought. With a shake to seal the deal, he shouldered his pack, lifted the sack of groceries that he'd purchased—the employee discount would help there, at least—and headed back for the Laundromat to collect his things.

All in all, it had been a productive day thus far. Unloading cargo trucks wasn't something that he wanted to be doing in the long term, but it would keep him keep him fed while he searched for other employment. Of course, he'd have preferred something that would pay for a room as well, and given the cost of everything else these days he very much doubted that this would, but as uncomfortable as the idea of presuming on Tony's hospitality for longer than he'd first declared made him, he'd gotten the impression that Tony had been entirely serious when he'd said that Steve could stay as long as he liked. And it wasn't as if 'longer' had to mean more than an extra week or two since the early morning hours Ms. Horace insisted on meant that he'd have the rest of the day to concentrate on finding more permanent employment.

Now that he had a job he didn't feel nearly as guilty about having bought a pack of oil pastels at the hobby shop along with the intended pencil and sketchpad, either. He knew that he should have left them on the shelf—even if they'd been on clearance for half price because of the damaged packaging, the cost had still made him wince—but those _colors_…even the nicest colored pencils couldn't match them.

After some slight confusion about where he might find an iron since JARVIS once again insisted that the tower contracted out that sort of thing, Steve got his clothing put away neatly, and then he settled himself in the common room with his new art supplies. He had to turn the couch in order to see out the wall of windows, but given that it was just Bruce and him on this level, he didn't think that it would matter.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been working when light footfalls alerted him to another's presence, and he twisted to look over the back of the couch. "Hello."

"Hey, Steve," Bruce greeted. "Hell of a view, isn't it?"

Steve nodded and did his best to casually flip his new sketchbook shut as Bruce came to look over the back of the couch. The guys in his unit had always enjoyed the little sketches he'd done during downtime, but there weren't many people who'd seen his real art.

Bruce gave him a curious glance, probably because closing the sketchbook didn't do much to hide the smudges the pastels had left on his fingers, but he didn't press.

"Are you finished for the day?" Steve asked.

"Nah, I just got a message from the hospital so I was going to take a break and head down there."

"The hospital? Is something wrong?"

"Hm? Oh, no." He shook his head quickly. "Nothing like that. I'm leaving for another trip to Calcutta the day after tomorrow, and I always try and take a few boxes of supplies back with me. You know, things that it's hard for them get their hands on over there. It's easier to make sure that they actually reach the clinic if I take them myself, but for various regulatory reasons some stuff has to be delivered to a legitimate medical institution instead of just being shipped directly to the tower. Don't ask me why since I then pick it up there and carry it here myself, but, well, here's to bureaucracy." He trailed off with a shake of his head. "I don't suppose you'd be up for taking a walk, would you? It's a pain to try and drive to the hospital, especially at this time of day, but there are three boxes this time and I won't be able to manage them all on the subway by myself."

"Sure," Steve agreed immediately, although he was a little surprised. He'd been on the trains a few times since he'd woken up, and although there had been some definite improvements made since his time, they were still rather cramped and crowded. He would have thought that it was a situation that Bruce would avoid.

He hadn't intended it, but some of his surprise must have shown in his expression because a ghost of a smile crossed Bruce's face. "I'm not sure that _anything_ is as bad for my blood pressure as trying to deal with Manhattan traffic."

"Couldn't you just go when it's less crowded?"

"I could, but the hospital is busy enough that if I don't get there before Marnie's shift is over—she works at the pharmacy desk and does the ordering for me—the boxes will get shoved in a random storage closet, and then it's a tossup whether they'll ever be seen again." His flicker of a smile turned into a rueful grin. "As far as I know, there are still a couple thousand tongue depressors and some over-the-counter cough medicine that I ordered for my first trip hiding _somewhere_ in that building."

"Just let me put these away, then," Steve said, holding up his sketchbook and pastels. It only took him a moment to suit actions to words, and then he joined Bruce in the elevator and the two of them headed back to the Manhattan streets.

"So did you get a chance to talk to Tony before he had to leave?" Bruce asked as they walked.

"I did. It was good to clear the air." He wasn't sure if he was supposed to talk about War Machine or Tony's lab out where other people might hear him, but he doubted that Tony's travel plans were any kind of secret. "Does he go off to Malibu regularly?"

"There and a few other places as well, plus press events wherever Pepper sets them up. For someone who doesn't officially run the company anymore, he's very involved. Then again, he does still have controlling interest, not to mention running R and D."

R and D being research and development, Steve knew, although the controlling interest part didn't mean much to him. "And it's still Stark Industries," he pointed out.

"And that," Bruce agreed. "Here's the entrance."

Steve didn't miss the fact that Bruce stayed close to the walls as they entered the subway, deliberately avoiding the main press of people, but his face didn't betray any anxiety. "Are you all right?" he asked anyway.

"I've dealt with worse. I—"

The loud rattle of an approaching train drowned out whatever he'd planned to say, and Steve hung back with him as a large number of those waiting boarded first. Letting the others go first meant that they didn't get a seat, instead joining the other latecomers in holding the vertical bars along the aisle and the straps overhead, but Steve didn't particularly mind and Bruce didn't even seem to notice.

"So have you done any more thinking about what you want to do?" Bruce asked, raising his voice as the train pulled out with them on it.

Steve shook his head. "I've got a short term job, though, so that'll give me more time to think about it. Assuming that Tony doesn't mind me staying at the tower for a while longer." He kept an eye on Bruce as he said it, a little curious what the reaction would be. Bruce had been staying with Tony longer—a different situation entirely, of course, since Bruce was contributing through his research—but if Steve had been mistaken and Tony would object, hopefully Bruce would know. And would say something.

"You're planning to move out?" Bruce gave him an odd look. "I mean, you could, but why?"

"I can't…it's not right to take advantage of him like that."

"Take advantage of _Tony_?" Bruce's exclamation was loud enough to earn him a disapproving frown from the woman standing next to him with her nose in a book, and he shook his head and lowered his voice slightly. "Have you met the man? If he didn't want you there, you wouldn't be there. Neither of us would be. And he doesn't rent out anything on the private levels like he sometimes does on the public—that's why there are four more unused suites on our level and a couple more empty levels besides—so it's not like you're depriving him of any income."

Steve shrugged. It wasn't that he didn't believe Bruce, it was just…it didn't feel right.

"Well, it's your choice," Bruce said, obviously reading his discomfort. They rumbled through another stop before he spoke again, and when he did, it was on a completely different subject. "You know, if you're really not sure what you want to do, you might try one of the local colleges."

"Go back to school?" Steve frowned. "I guess it's an option, but wouldn't I need some kind of direction first? A major or something?" Unless that had changed too.

"I didn't mean taking classes—although there's no reason to rule that out, if you're interested—I meant going to a counseling center." He paused. "Actually the city probably sponsors something like that, too, although I'm not sure exactly where you'd go to find it."

"Counseling? I feel fine." Out of place, sometimes, maybe, but that was to be expected. And he'd never been much for talking to strangers, at least when it came to personal issues.

"I mean career counseling. They give you aptitude and interest tests and that kind of thing, and then depending on your results they point you towards a career path."

"You did that?"

"Me, no, I've known for as long as I can remember that I wanted to go into the sciences. The hardest decision for me was which science to start with. But I used to see advertisements on campus all the time, especially in the undergrad years. I guess that sort of assumes that you've decided not to back to the army or to SH—" He broke off abruptly, taking a quick glance around, but none of the rest of the passengers were paying them the least bit of attention. "Or to take Fury up on his offer, though," he finished in a slightly lower tone. "Have you?"

"I think so. I mean, I don't think I will. After the whole thing with the weapons, and then the…well, you know…I don't know if I _can_ work for them. I'm not against joining forces if there's a good reason to, but I'm not sure if I could deal with it on a daily basis."

"I can understand that. Although in my case, it's more that I just can't take day after day of sidelong looks. At least Tony's honest about jabbing me with random objects, and none of the other scientists here seem to care."

"He still does that?" Steve had to ask.

"Not in a while. I think Pepper yelled at him. Not about the H—the Other Guy—but about it being rude to electrocute your guests."

"Most people don't need to be told that."

"Most people aren't Tony. Anyway, he was never really serious about it. He likes the Other Guy." A pause. "The Other Guy likes him too, which I still think is a little strange. Oh, this next stop is us."

Conversation ceased until they were back up on the streets in another part of Manhattan, and then Bruce tilted his head. "What did you do before, anyway?"

"Before?"

"Before the war. The serum. Or, I guess a lot of guys went straight from school into the military, didn't they?"

"They did, but I wasn't one of them. I, uh, I used to write comic books, actually. Well, that and I did some freelance illustration work and took a few advertising assignments since comics didn't pay the rent very well." Aside from the doodles he'd done to pass the time during the war, hadn't thought about those days much since he'd been given the serum.

"No kidding? Have you thought about getting back into it?"

"Not really. I don't think I could." Steve gestured at an advertisement on the back of the bus stop they were passing. He was reasonably certain from the text that the woman was trying to sell a house, but if he'd ever dared to present a drawing like that he'd have been thrown out on his ear. Possibly literally. Even the girls he'd toured with had shown less. "Advertising is different now."

"Yeah, I guess it is more flash and social media these days." Bruce shrugged. "Anyway, career counseling's just an idea."

* * *

He was an idiot. It was the only possible explanation.

Steve shook his head and tossed his pencil down, running a hand through his hair as he drew in a long breath. No, he _wasn't_ an idiot, and he knew it, the real explanation was that despite his best efforts he was still playing catch-up with far too much of this century. That didn't make him feel any better about not being able to fill out these gosh darned forms, though.

He was pretty sure that the placement agency that he'd stumbled upon wasn't quite the same thing as the career counseling that Bruce had suggested, but Bruce had left yesterday, and they'd advertised training and job search assistance so Steve had figured that it was close enough. And they had given him forms to fill out asking about his skills and abilities and that sort of thing. It was just that some of them….

The first page had been simple enough. Name, age, birthdate, and education; he'd taken the liberty of changing a few dates, which made him feel slightly guilty, but filling in the right dates would mean that he'd have to explain all of those years trapped in the ice, and he didn't think that that was at all relevant to his job search. Contact information had been trickier because although he'd been given a cellular phone at SHIELD and shown him how to make calls on it, he'd grown up in a time when a phone—if you could even afford a phone—went on the wall not in a man's pocket. When he'd left on his trip it had been sitting on the desk in his SHIELD apartment, and as far as he knew it remained there still. Fortunately JARVIS had been able to supply him with contact information for his suite here, and while he was a little curious about _how_ a phone call to the tower would work since there wasn't actually a phone anywhere that he'd seen, he believed JARVIS when he said it would reach him.

The form about previous employment had been relatively easy as well. There was his time in the Army, obviously, and given that there was a section specifically calling out military service it clearly wasn't an uncommon thing. He'd gone ahead and written about his old advertising work as well since he'd told Bruce about it, along with a few of his more recent odd jobs just to fill in some of the other blank lines.

Then had come the forms about skills, though. The first half page or so was freeform and he'd felt perfectly comfortable listing strategy, tactics, and leadership, and although he wasn't sure it was what they were looking for he'd put down marksmanship and martial arts ability as well, but after that the freeform had ceased and he'd found himself at a loss.

Like this question: How well do you know Word? If someone had asked him that on the street, his response would be that he'd never met the man. Obviously, given that it was under the heading of 'Technical Abilities,' that wasn't the _right_ response, but with the absolute lack of context he had no idea what was. 'Not at all' he supposed, but he'd already had to admit that he had no typing speed and no familiarity with Windows—on the assumption that that this didn't refer to the sorts of windows that went on houses since, again, this was under 'Technical Abilities'—and if he kept answering questions in the negative they were probably going to throw his application in the trash without even bothering to finish it.

The questions didn't get any better when he flipped to the next page, either. Oracles and Power Points and Access—access to what it didn't say—and Heaven only knew what it all meant because he certainly didn't. And there were still two more pages for 'Technical Abilities' that he hadn't even looked at yet.

Things had gotten a little better once he'd given up on technical abilities entirely—if nothing else, he could drive a truck and lift heavy objects at least as well as the next man—but somehow the idea of spending his days working in a warehouse or delivering boxes just didn't appeal to him. Unfortunately he didn't speak any languages besides English, at least not if you didn't count the smattering of inappropriate French he'd picked up during the war, he could manage the same basic repairs that any depression-era kid could but that didn't make him an auto mechanic or a plumber or an electrician, and his knowledge of agriculture was that of someone who'd repeatedly, if accidentally, drowned the cabbages his mother kept trying to grow in the window box. Judging by these questions there just didn't seem to be anything else that he was _qualified_ to do.

He sighed, debating going back to the technical section to see if there was anything that he could answer with something besides a negative, and then put the packet down on his table beside the pencil and pushed himself to his feet. He'd finish that section later; right now he needed to hit the gym. Do something to take his mind off things for a little while.

Given the hour there would almost certainly be people in the public gym so after he changed he grabbed his wraps and asked JARVIS to let him off at the private one. And wished he that had the money to pick up a spare punching bag so he wouldn't feel guilty when he inevitably broke the one that Tony had, because right now he could practically feel it coming. Maybe he should use Fury's card to pay for that.

Unfortunately, the first thing he heard when he stepped off the elevator was a series of thumps, and he closed his eyes and turned right back around. It just figured. The elevator door had closed behind him, though, and since he was here…well, there were always the free weights. He made himself turn again, schooling his face into a blank expression, and walked out into the room. He wasn't sure who he expected to see as he came around the corner—another scientist he supposed, although he hadn't actually met anyone besides Bruce and Tony on the private levels yet—but instead he found Tony, and he halted automatically.

Tony didn't even notice his approach, his focus on the bag in front of him, and Steve was surprised to realize that his form was actually very good and the hits landing against the bag were solid. Not as solid as Steve's, obviously, but when he'd seen that the punching bag was relatively new he'd assumed that it was because no one used it, not because Tony had reason to keep it in good repair himself.

"Tony?" he called after a minute, warning the other man of his presence.

Tony spun, arms pulling in defensively, and then he relaxed just as quickly. "Hey, Spangles."

"Steve," he corrected. "I didn't know you were back."

"Just landed an hour or so ago." He smiled, but somehow it didn't look quite real. "JARVIS is recalibrating the flight stabilizers so I thought I'd get a workout in."

"Are you all right?"

"It's a new model. There are always a few kinks to work out."

Steve waited to see if he'd elaborate—somehow he doubted that whatever was bothering Tony was mechanical, especially since he'd flown out in his suit a few days ago and if anything had been seriously wrong he'd have already dealt with it—but when Tony only waved a hand dismissively, Steve gestured at the bag. "I didn't know that you boxed."

"Picked it up a couple years ago. Good cardio."

"I don't suppose you want to go a few rounds?" He tried to keep the question casual, but the idea of having someone to spar with right now was more tempting than he cared to admit.

Tony shook his head, but at least this time his smile seemed genuine. "Sorry, Cap, but I spent a good portion of high school getting pounded into the ground like a tent peg. I'm not real eager to repeat the experience."

Steve frowned, and he shrugged.

"Mouthy twelve year old when I started, mouthy fourteen year old when I graduated, and I don't know if you knew this, but teenage boys can be assholes. Although the majority of them did take the hint and stopped when I started electrocuting them."

Steve was a little surprised at Tony's throwaway description of his time in high school—it didn't sound so different than his experience when Bucky hadn't been around to have his back, really—but then, Tony was on the smaller side of average now. If he'd been that young when he'd attended, he wouldn't have stood a chance. "I wouldn't do that," he said. "The tent peg, thing, I mean, not the electrocute thing." A pause. "And I wouldn't do that either, even if I did know how. Besides, aren't you the one who said he wasn't afraid to hit an old man?"


	6. Tuesday

_Thanks to everyone who read and Qweb, Anastasia Jamieson, Harm Marie, ArtemisGrim, Preferably, not paranoid enough, and AlienTourist for reviewing._

* * *

Tony darted in, tagging his ribs, but Steve had figured out his twisting escape now, and he made it around fast enough to clip Tony in return.

"Damn," Tony muttered, darting back out of reach. "I thought that would work for a while longer."

The fact that Tony was beyond Steve's reach meant that Steve was safe for the time being as well, and his eyes narrowed as he evaluated his opponent. Tony was quick, and he had more muscle than Steve had expected, but he didn't have the serum-enhanced reflexes that Steve did. Or the same endurance, because while Steve had just barely broken a sweat, Tony's breathing was becoming ragged. Still, Steve was feeling a lot better than he had been when he'd decided to come down to the gym. "Next point wins and—and we get some supper?" he suggested.

Tony tilted his head, obviously catching the mid-sentence correction.

Steve waved it off. What he'd almost said was 'and loser buys supper' which would have been an appropriate joke among his army buddies—it never mattered that he almost always won since there was nowhere to eat but the chow tent anyway—but this wasn't the army and he was already taking advantage of Tony's hospitality by staying at the tower in the first place.

"Have I won _any_ points?" Tony asked.

Steve grinned. Tony had tagged him a few times, but that was about it.

"JARVIS, figure out what Spangles doesn't like and order it for dinner."

"_Steve_," Steve said with a roll of his eyes. "And I grew up during the depression, remember?" Not liking food was a luxury he'd never had. Frankly he'd been lucky that there hadn't been any food sensitivities among his myriad of other pre-serum health issues.

"I would also like to point out that after the incident with the strawberries, you requested that I ensure that all food intending to be given to or shared with others didn't violate any of their dietary requirements and/or preferences," JARVIS added.

"Right. Damn. Fine, then, order whatever." He looked back at Steve. "What do you want? Mexican? Thai? More pizza?"

"You don't have to," Steve began, but Tony shook his head, cutting him off.

"I'm getting hungry. This way we have food waiting for us when we're done instead of having to do that pesky cooking thing that Pepper has informed me that I should avoid anyway. Besides, I needed to borrow a piece from my oven a few weeks ago and I haven't gotten around to fixing it yet."

"I…why did you need to borrow a piece from your oven?" Somehow he knew that he shouldn't ask—all he'd intended to do when he'd opened his mouth was offer the use of the oven in his kitchen or at the very least point out that there was another in the communal kitchen area on his floor—but the question had just slipped out.

"I had an idea and needed a heating coil and it was convenient. And then You broke the rack getting it for me so I have to fix that too."

"I didn't break anything," Steve objected. He hadn't even been around a few weeks ago.

"What? No, not you, You. My robot. One of my robots. I didn't introduce you?" He shook his head, not waiting for Steve's answer. "Right, I banished them to my workshop after Dummy tried to put out Rhodey's insignia again and they haven't come back down. I'll introduce you later."

"I...right," Steve said after a moment, mostly for lack of anything else to say.

"So, food?"

"Whatever you'd like would be fine. Really."

"JARVIS, order Chinese," Tony ordered, apparently taking him at his word. "The good kind. And make sure they don't forget the fortune cookies this time."

"Of course, sir."

Tony grinned and brought up his hands, beginning to circle again. "All right, old man, last point."

Steve shook his head and then dropped a shoulder as Tony feinted, moving in for his own attack. Tony wasn't going to score a point this time either if he had any say in it, but he wasn't ruling out Tony pulling some sneaky stunt, especially since they weren't staying entirely to the formal rules of boxing. Mixed martial arts, Tony had called it when Steve had objected to his first trick, although Steve had noticed that wrestling didn't seem to be one of the arts mixed in. Or maybe it was and Tony just had better sense than to try it since as soon as Steve got a hand on him the weight difference alone meant that he'd be pretty solidly doomed.

Tony came at him twice more with feints before attacking, but Steve was ready for him and lashed out with an attack of his own that sent Tony backpedaling quickly. Tony managed to avoid the—carefully pulled—uppercut, but it set him off balance, and as he scrambled to the side Steve grinned and pressed his advantage. There were no ropes, but they'd been treating the edge of the mat as bounds, and another step or two and he'd have Tony over it.

Tony tumbled past him suddenly in one of the definitely-not-boxing moves that even Steve's reflexes couldn't compensate for, and it was Steve's turn to stagger as a foot caught him behind the knee. He shifted his weight to his other leg quickly to compensate, twisting hard, and—

There was a grunt and Tony hit the ground even as Steve's hand went to his elbow to rub out the sudden sting. That had been metal he'd connected with, and although it wasn't visible under the shirt Tony was wearing, he realized that it must have been the device in Tony's chest that powered his suit.

"Okay, I officially cut that too close," Tony said, rolling to lie flat on his back, one hand going to rub his chest. "Ow."

"Sorry," Steve said. He hadn't meant to connect that hard, and it was probably a good thing he'd caught Tony in the chest and not the face or Tony would have a bloodied nose at the very least. "Are you okay?"

"I'll live."

Tony stuck his other hand up, waving it around, and after a minute Steve caught it and pulled him back to his feet. He _looked_ steady enough….

"Suppose that means you win," Tony said with a shake of his head, dropping his hand from his chest. "JARVIS, is dinner on the way?"

"The order has been placed and will arrive in approximately twenty minutes."

"Meet you upstairs?" Tony asked.

"Wait, are you sure you're all right? Why do you wear that when you're not in your suit?" Steve could understand him having kept it on on the helicarrier, but surely he wasn't expecting to be attacked here. And he'd been wearing it the other night too, now that Steve thought about it. At the time he hadn't given it a second thought, but he'd been able to see the light through Tony's shirt.

Tony gave him an odd look. "Because if I don't, a bunch of little bits of shrapnel will crawl into my heard and tear it apart."

"What?"

"You're joking, right? That wasn't in the information that Fury gave you?"

Steve opened his mouth and then shut it again. He'd been given an entire folder on Tony—and entire folder on each of them—and when he thought about it there had been something about terrorists in Afghanistan and an explosion that had led to the creation of the first Iron Man suit. That part had only been only a few lines long, though, and Steve had gotten the distinct impression that whoever had written it hadn't had a lot of actual details about how everything fit together either. And the rest of that section had been a bunch of gobbledygook about electric magnets or electronic magnets or something like that, and he'd given up pretty quickly and skipped ahead to Tony's personality profile and then the section on Iron Man's tactical capabilities. "It might have been," he admitted. "I sort of…skimmed…the technical stuff. You have shrapnel—?"

"Did Captain America just admit to cheating on his homework?" Tony interrupted in mock astonishment. "I'm telling Mom."

"If you're referring to Fury, I did not need that image."

Tony grimaced. "I see your point and suddenly need a drink. Or several." He shook his head. "Never mind, it doesn't matter since half of what SHIELD has is wrong anyway. I don't exactly give out specs on this baby." He rapped his knuckles against his chest. "The short version is that I got hurt, I built this—or an earlier version of this, anyway—to keep the shrapnel away from my heart, and in its spare time I use it to power my suit. Simple enough."

Too simple, Steve thought, especially since he hadn't missed the fact that Tony had cut off his half-voiced question, about shrapnel but Tony had already turned on his heel and headed for the elevator.

* * *

Steve stared at the cartons on the table in front of him and then leaned back into the cushions of the chair, holding back a groan mostly by force of will. Workouts always built up his appetite, but he had still eaten _way_ too much. Somehow it just hadn't looked like that much food when he'd started opening them.

"JARVIS, that was officially too much Chinese," Tony said, echoing his thoughts even if there were barely half the number of wrappers in front of him that there were in front of Steve. "This was your idea of a subtle response to my comment about your sarcasm routines getting bloated, wasn't it?"

"I am not programmed for subtlety."

Steve snickered despite himself.

"Nobody asked you, Spangles."

"My name is Steve."

Tony slumped back further into the couch, his eyes closing. "Right, I did hear that somewhere before."

For a moment Steve considered throwing the remains of the last carton of orange chicken at him, but that was just a waste of perfectly good food. Not to mention that it would make a mess. "Can I ask you a question?" he asked instead, his eyes focusing on the blue glow that was visible through the thin t-shirt Tony had changed into after their sparring session. "I mean, a serious one."

"Depends." Tony opened one eye to look at him. "Do I have to give a serious answer?"

"Tony."

His eye closed again. "Sorry, but I only give serious answers between four and six on…." He paused for a moment. "Tuesdays."

"You just checked to make sure that it wasn't Tuesday, didn't you?"

"No."

"Yes, you did."

"Nope."

"I—"

"Nuh-uh."

"But—"

"Did not."

Steve reminded himself that he was not six and this was not a playground and forged ahead with his question, ignoring yet another attempt by Tony to interrupt. "How did you end up with shrapnel in your heart? Or your chest or wherever it is."

There was silence for a minute and Steve wasn't sure that Tony was going to respond, but then he opened his eyes and focused on Steve and his expression was serious. "What _do_ you know?"

"From what I read, you were in Afghanistan a few years ago," Steve began cautiously, "and there was some kind of incident involving a group of terrorists. You built the first Iron Man and over there and then came back and built another one, and then you announced you were him at some kind of press conference. And then there was the whole thing about electric magnets that I didn't understand." He wasn't going to bring up the personality profile part unless Tony asked; he already knew that it wasn't the whole truth about Tony anyway.

Tony snorted. "Electromagnets, and if it's the part of the report I'm thinking of, neither did the guy who wrote it. SHIELD scientists tend to be tolerable enough in their individual specialties, but they get out of their depth fast when they start branching out."

Steve suspected that most people got out of their depth fast where Tony's science was concerned, but he knew perfectly well when he was being sidetracked. "What happened to you?" he pressed.

"The 'incident,' as you so eloquently put it, was an attack. The convoy I was traveling with was attacked, and my Humvee was separated from the others. The airmen I was with were killed, and I was kidnapped by the terrorists under the theory that I'd be willing to build weapons for them."

Steve tensed—he might not have understood too much about that section of the report, but he did know that Stark Industries had stopped producing weapons _after_ Tony's return, not before—but Tony kept going before he could ask.

"It was a dumb theory, but, hey, terrorists. The thing is, I'd taken some shrapnel—a lot of shrapnel—to the chest in the attack, not all of which could be surgically removed. Without some way to stop it, it would have gotten to my heart and ripped it apart inside of a week. So Yinsen installed an electromagnet."

"Yinsen?"

"Another prisoner." He shook his head and waved a hand in dismissal. "Anyway, as for electromagnets…." He tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling for a minute before returning his gaze to Steve. "Have you ever taken any physics classes? Or did they even have magnets back in the Dark Ages?"

"I was in high school in the thirties, Tony; yes, we had magnets. And I took a physics class, too, but it wasn't really my thing." Mr. Taylor had taught it between math classes, and he hadn't been a bad teacher, but Steve had spent more time drawing detailed pictures of the pianos being pushed up inclined planes than actually doing any calculations. It was a little strange, now that he thought about—half of being effective with his shield was knowing how to throw it and where it would ricochet and all of that—but apparently it was all in the application because he still wouldn't know how much force he'd have to use if he had to load a piano onto a truck.

"Well, the important thing to know is that a magnetic field can either attract or repel," Tony continued, drawing him back to the present. "You've seen that, right?"

"Sure, hold two magnets one way and they stick, but if you flip them around they just slide apart when you try to press them together."

Tony nodded. "An electromagnet behaves basically like a normal magnet except that it has its magnetic field generated and controlled by electricity. In my case, the electromagnet that's being used to keep the shrapnel out of my heart is powered by my arc reactor so it stays in even when I'm not in the suit."

"But I thought you built the arc reactor later. You had one with you in Afghanistan?" That didn't even seem to fit with Tony's short version.

Something dark crossed Tony's face. "Yinsen used an alternative energy source to power the first electromagnet, and then I took it from there with some pieces from the weapons our captors had."

"What's alternative?" he asked before he thought better of it.

"A car battery."

"Someone hooked a _car battery_ to your chest?!" It came out louder than Steve had intended and he was glad that no one else had heard, but while he didn't claim to understand the whole reactor thing beyond that it was a power source, he damn well knew what a car battery was and where it should and shouldn't be hooked up.

"Easy, tiger, I plan on using these ears again. Besides, a pair of double-As wasn't to cut it. So I used the car battery for long enough to build the reactor, and then I built the suit instead of the weapons they wanted, busted out, and…Iron Man." Another shrug. "Well, technically that first one fell apart in the desert since it was never intended for continued operation, but like you said, I built another one after I got back. That was the real Mark I."

As far as details went there were obviously plenty still missing, but if Tony's tone was anything to go by—if the fact that he could _read_ Tony's tone was anything to go by—Steve had done about as much prying as he was going to get away with for one night. That meant finding a change of subject, though, and the image of Tony with a car battery wired to his chest wasn't making that easy. "Does War Machine have something like that in him?" he finally asked as silence drew out. "I mean, Colonel Rhodes?" It seemed like a heck of a price to pay to be able to use a suit.

Tony visibly relaxed at the question. "War Machine runs on a reactor, sure, but it's part of the suit, not Rhodey. Mark II never got beyond the testing phase before I switched over to III to deal with a few internals that I wanted altered, and since it's easier to do some of the power-up tests from the outside it still had an independent reactor when Rhodey took it."

"No offense, but that seems like a much better way to go about things."

"You're not going to get any argument from me."

The room went silent again, but somehow it was much more comfortable than it had been a few moments ago, and after a minute Steve looked back over. "Can I ask you something else?" He wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to, but he had to ask somebody, and Tony was here. And he'd know, there was no question about that.

"Is it Tuesday yet?"

"It's Tuesday on Asgard." Or it wasn't—heck, they probably didn't even have a day of the week called Tuesday—but it wasn't like Tony could prove him wrong without Thor here. "Who's Word?"


	7. Settling In

_Thanks to everyone who read and AlienTourist, not paranoid enough, Minecraft Guardiansaiyan, Qweb, Preferably, A Zap, Harm Marie, VioletteVie, AB Feta, 1983Sarah, and digiwriter for reviewing._

* * *

A hand clapped his shoulder. "You're a smart kid. You'll figure it out."

Steve twisted to stare after Tony, trying to figure out how the man could say that immediately on the heels of yet another 'old man' comment and somehow have absolutely no trouble with it whatsoever. It was hard enough for him to deal with sometimes, and he was the one that Tony was talking about!

Tony was already halfway to the elevator, though, muttering to JARVIS about alloys and apparently completely oblivious to Steve's eyes on him. At least up until the elevator doors opened, at which point he turned back. "And remember, I have a meeting at one, so if you run into any problems, feel free to contact me at about 12:59. Pepper can't yell at me for missing it if I'm helping Captain America."

Steve started to tell him that he absolutely would not, and no matter what Tony said, he wasn't accepting the computer as a gift either, but the elevator shut before he could do more than open his mouth. With a shake of his head, he turned back around, returning his attention to the object in his lap. There hadn't been a computer among the items that SHIELD had given him—why would there have been when he wouldn't even have known what it was?—but he had used them a few times on his trip. Mostly because that was the only way one could find specific books in libraries these days…he'd tried asking for directions to the card catalogue once and the blank stare he'd received in return had convinced him not to do it again.

This one wasn't like those computers, though, it was in the 'laptop' style, and when he opened it—even if he wasn't willing to accept it as a gift, at this point he was willing to borrow it if he could just learn to use it—he found that the circular button at the top, right in the center, was labeled 'On/Off.' Actually all of the buttons were properly labeled as opposed to the mix of standard typewriter key markings and completely unintelligible symbols and abbreviations that he'd seen on the other machines. Not that he had any idea what 'Function 8' actually did, but it was marginally better than 'F8' which in his day had been an experimental aircraft designation that they'd been looking to introduce to the war effort.

When he'd finally admitted his computer trouble to Tony, Tony had promised that he had either had or could build something that would make things easier, and even if there had been distinct signs of amusement when he'd said it—signs of amusement above and beyond a choking fit that even an idiot would have recognized as suppressed laughter when Steve had clarified the Word he was asking about—it seemed that he'd been telling the truth. And Steve appreciated that he had _someone's_ confidence that he could figure it out, because after another go at that questionnaire after work this morning, he was having serious doubts himself.

After a moment he pressed the 'On/Off' button, and 'Good Morning, Spangles' appeared on the screen.

"_Tony,_" Steve groaned.

The greeting cleared a moment later, but rather than the library screens he'd used before where you entered a subject and then clicked the button and it found you the books you wanted, this one had a series of small pictures labeled things like 'Word' and 'Powerpoint' and 'Computers 101.' There was no attachment for pointing like the library computers had had, but when he touched the picture for 'Computers 101'—even in his day '101' had been a standard introductory course designation—the screen changed again and a voice began to speak.

The basic introduction to computers, including how to use a trackpad in place of a mouse and an explanation of various terms and abbreviations, led into an introductory typing course that Steve easily completed, and from there he was able to access the 'help' and 'tutorial' menus for the different programs without too much difficulty. Some of them seemed a little…odd…but others were quite useful. Particularly the so-called 'web browsers.' Particularly Wikipedia.

Somewhere along the line he heard the elevator door open, but he was engrossed in the intricacies of the Internet that he didn't pay it much attention. At least until a woman's voice said, 'You must be Captain Rogers,' at which point reflex had him simultaneously trying to set the computer aside carefully and without losing his place while lurching to a standing position as fast as humanly possible because you didn't greet a strange woman sprawled out on the couch with your feet up on the coffee table. He had _manners_, damn it!

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," she said with a smile, offering a hand when he was finally on his feet. "Pepper Potts. It's nice to finally meet you."

"I—yes, ma'am, Steve Rogers," he managed, knowing full well that his face was flaming. He'd have recognized her from Tony's pictures even without her introduction, and this was hardly the sort of first impression that he wanted to make. "I mean, it's a pleasure to meet you too. I'm sorry, I didn't—I thought you were Tony—"

"Pepper, please," she interrupted gracefully, obviously too polite to acknowledge that his face looked like a tomato. "And don't worry about it, really. I wasn't supposed to get in until tonight, but my last meeting got cancelled and we were able to get an earlier departure time." She tilted her head. "Actually, if you haven't already eaten, would you care to join me for a late lunch? We should get to know each other if you're going to be staying here, and I hate eating alone."

"Tony isn't…?" Now that she mentioned it he realized that he was hungry, but surely she'd prefer Tony's company to a complete stranger's. Especially after having been gone for a week. And it wasn't like he was going to be staying here that much longer anyway.

"Tony had _better_ be in a meeting with the heads of the research departments right now," she said, a hint of steel suddenly showing in her voice, "and then this afternoon he has to be at the dedication ceremony for the new computer science building upstate. We'll see each other tonight." She gestured suddenly at the computer. "Oh, but you were working, weren't you? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"No, no, you didn't," Steve reassured her quickly. "I'm just trying to learn how computers work. Tony gave—_loaned_—me this this morning to help."

"Hm. And is it?"

"I think so. I like Wikipedia. Some of the programs are a little confusing, though."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there's a program called Word that has a cartoon paperclip that keeps appearing and telling me that it looks like I'm writing a letter. No matter what I'm typing. Even if I haven't typed anything. Do people really write that many letters?" And he still couldn't understand why the job application be asking about his letter writing capability anyway.

Miss Potts groaned. "May I see the computer? That's not a problem with the program—or at least it hasn't been a problem with the program for about ten years—that's Tony's more-than-occasionally juvenile sense of humor asserting itself and I should be able to…there you go." She handed the computer back. "No more Clippy. Now, come on, I'm definitely treating you to lunch if Tony's subjected you to that all morning."

It hadn't been a problem, really, just a little…well, strange…but she obviously wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer so he stood and followed her to the elevator.

* * *

Punch. Punch. Punch, punch, _punch_. There was a bang as the punching bag flew backwards and impacted the wall, spraying sand in all direction.

"_Damn it_," Steve said, but it was more groan than curse. The day—well, yesterday—had gone so well, too. First Danny had decided to take an extra couple weeks off work, and not that Steve was pleased that Danny's arm wasn't healing as quickly has he'd like, but he did appreciate that he'd still be bringing in income while he tried to find a longer-term job. Then the woman at the job placement agency had accepted his packet of questions and had read through it without showing any desire to throw it directly into the trash as he'd once feared. He hadn't felt comfortable listing a _high_ level of proficiency with the various programs, but after a few days with Tony's computer and a little bit of tutoring from Tony and Pepper he'd been able to demonstrate that he knew what they all were and how they were used which was a definite step up. Then he'd had the afternoon to sketch and then another dinner with Pepper and Tony. He did try not to intrude on their time together since he knew they were both busy, but Pepper had insisted, and when Pepper insisted it was best to just say 'yes, ma'am' and do what she wanted. Except that he shouldn't _actually_ say 'yes, ma'am' because Pepper didn't like it and Tony would point and snicker while she very politely yelled at him. Of course, she'd started frowning disapprovingly when he called her 'Miss Potts' too so he was trying to break the habit, but…well, he had a feeling it would take more than a week to reach that level of comfort. Even if Tony did keep laughing at him for it.

They'd talked for an hour or two after dinner, and somehow Steve had gotten volunteered to take one of the cars and pick up Bruce at the airport on Saturday. He was pretty sure that was Tony's fault but he wasn't quite clear on how, and, anyway, it wasn't like he really minded. He was looking forward to seeing Bruce again and hearing more about the work he did, and hopefully Bruce could help him with some of the other preparatory stuff he'd gotten from the job agency. All in all, when Steve had finally made it back to his rooms and gone to bed, he'd been in a fairly happy mood.

Unfortunately that happy mood had lasted only until about two am when he'd suddenly shot bolt upright in bed, wide awake, with a sheen of sweat covering him and the sound of exploding shells ringing in his ears. Of course, there were no shells, he was in his entirely-too-nice room at Tony's with a lovely view of the city out the window—it was never entirely dark in New York, although the tint on the windows meant that the brightness didn't disturb him—and with no good reason to be having a nightmare, but that hadn't helped to calm his breathing. He hadn't had a nightmare like that since before the Chitauri invasion, and he'd almost forgotten how _real_ they were.

He'd gone into his kitchen with the intention of getting a glass of water, but then he'd turned on the tap, and…well, JARVIS' inquiry as to whether he was all right had nearly made him jump out of his skin, but that was probably just as well because if it hadn't he'd still be frozen in place staring at the water filling the sink. As it was, he suspected that he'd stood there longer than he realized.

He'd ended up in the gym—the private one—and he'd hoped he'd be able to clear his mind with the familiar rhythm of boxing, but now he'd gone and destroyed Tony's punching bag. The only one in this gym.

"Damn it," he muttered again, but there was nothing for it, and he sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "JARVIS?"

"Yes, Captain Rogers?"

"Is there a large dumpster somewhere? And where would I find a broom and dustpan?"

"I can have that dealt with tomorrow morning when the next cleaning shift comes in," JARVIS said.

"I can clean up my own mess!" It came out sharper than he'd intended, and he closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. I just…I'd rather take care of it myself." Of course, he'd have to wait until the shops opened to replace the punching bag, and he wasn't sure if there was a shop anywhere near here that sold them—or how much they'd cost if there was—but it wasn't like he had any other options.

"Of course, Captain Rogers."

If JARVIS was offended by his outburst he gave no sign of it, and Steve wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He was pretty sure JARVIS could get offended and just wasn't, so hopefully it was good.

"There is a large dumpster located in the alley immediately to the rear of the building on the far corner," JARVIS continued, "and you may collect whatever cleaning supplies you need from the maid station on the thirteenth floor."

"Thank you."

The work of lugging the old bag out to the trash and sweeping up the spilled sand both in the elevator and in the gym itself didn't do any more to help him clear his mind than destroying the punching bag in the first place had. It just wasted time. Not enough time that he could justify going in to work early, though, and he sighed and leaned against the wall. There had to be something he could do. He straightened. "JARVIS?"

"Yes, Captain Rogers?"

"Do you know where Tony gets his punching bags?"

"I order them as necessary, although with any other equipment required."

Right. Of course he did. So much for Steve getting in an early run so he'd be there when the shop—wherever it was—opened. "Well, can you order one more to replace this one? I'll pay for it." Of course, as soon as the words were out of his mouth he realized that he had no idea how one paid an artificial intelligence, but there had to be a machine for it somewhere.

"That is unnecessary; gym equipment is a regular line-item expense. If you would prefer, you can bring a new one up from storage now, although I suspect that Mr. Start would prefer that you did not."

"What? Why? He likes to box too."

"He does," JARVIS agreed, "but I believe he's been expecting something of this sort to happen and requested that I take readings of the forces involved when it does."

"I don't…what?" Steve repeated. "He expected me to do that?" Steve couldn't help but be a little offended as he stared up at the speaker. It had happened, obviously, but it wasn't like he'd _intended_ to break anything of Tony's. He was a better guest than that.

"I would suggest that it was less expectation and more a possibility that happened to occur to him once with no actual thought put into the probability. You once made a comment about breaking punching bags, and while I cannot be completely certain of Mr. Stark's thought processes, it was very likely that which triggered it. My databanks are, for all intents and purposes, unlimited, so there are any number of such requests that I handle." A pause. "For example, should Gozer appear, I'm requested to track any stone statuary that he may choose to animate."

"I…huh?"

"It is in reference to a character in a movie that came out approximately thirty years ago, and I don't believe Mr. Stark was entirely sober at that point. Although I would note that I have since raised the probability of an attack from an alternate dimension considerably from the original estimate of zero, given the events of the past year."

"Right," Steve said after a minute. Mostly because he wasn't sure what else he was supposed to say. "But why? I mean, about the punching bag." He didn't want to hear any more about possible attacks from alternate dimensions—or attacks from anywhere, really—right now.

"Again, I have no specific insight at this point, but as a general rule when Mr. Stark begins making calculations it's because he intends to build something. That is why I don't suggest hanging another standard punching bag at this time."

"Oh. Well, I guess…." Another shake of his head. Whatever he was going to do, it wasn't going to involve sleep. "I'll leave it for now, but could you ask him about it tomorrow if I don't see him before you do? If he does want a new one hung, just let me know." And he was going to find a way to pay for it somehow even if JARVIS didn't want him to. "I'm…." Well, he wasn't going to even attempt to sleep again tonight, and he wasn't going to risk destroying any more of Tony's things, so there weren't too many other options. "I'm going for a run."

"Yes, sir. Shall I take you to the main gym?"

"No, it's…I'll run outside." For once it was a late enough—early enough—hour that he might be able to build up some speed, even in this neighborhood. "By the time I finish, it should be time for work anyway." And he had to do something to clear his head. He didn't understand why he'd suddenly had a nightmare now when he hadn't in so long, and he didn't want it to happen again.


End file.
